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DON  QUIXOTE 
OF  THE  MANCHA 


OFTHEMNCHft 

Miguel    dcs    fie*  v &  nt&%     >Ta  a  ktfJvd 

REToLD  0   .  Q  ILLUSTM 


BY- 

JUDGE- 
PARKY. 


TED  BY 

WALTER: 
CRAttE. 


NEW  YORK 
JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 

.  1919 


PREFACE 

A  version  of  Don  Quixote  which  is  appended  to  Mr. 
Walter  Crane's  illustrations  needs  perhaps  no  apology, 
but  I  desire  to  state  briefly  what  I  have  endeavoured 
to  do.  No  existing  abridgment  of  Don  Quixote, 
known  to  me,  gives  in  simple  narrative  form  the  ad- 
ventures of  Knight  and  Squire,  with  as  much  of  the 
wisdom  and  humour  of  their  discourse  as  would  be 
within  the  grasp  of  the  younger  generation  of  readers., 
This — The  Story  of  Don  Quixote,  as  I  call  it — I  have 
tried  to  produce.  In  doing  it  I  have  made  use  of  all 
the  English  translations,  but  the  basis  of  this  book  is 
Thomas  Shelton's  translation,  the  language  of  which 
seems  to  me  better  to  express  the  humour  of  Cervantes 
than  any  other.  Many  will  consider  such  a  task  in 
the  nature  of  sacrilege  or,  at  the  best,  verging  on  the 
impertinent.  With  these  views  I  have  much  sympathy 
myself.  But  at  least,  let  it  be  understood  that  all 
I    have  attempted   to    do    is   to   tell   a  well-known 

story  in  print,  as  one  who  loves  it  would  seek  to 
tell  it  in  words,  to  those  around  his  own  fireside  ; 
in  the  hope  that  some  may  gather  from  this  story 
that  there  is  a  vast  storehouse  of  humour  and  wisdom 
awaiting  them  in  the  book  itself. 


CONTENTS 


I.  An  Introduction  to  that  famous  gentleman,  Don 

Quixote  of  the  Mancha,        ....  I 

II.  Of  the  First  Sally  that  Don  Quixote  made  to 

seek  Adventures,    .       .       .       .       ...  7 

III.  Of  the  Pleasant  Manner  of  the  Knighting  of  Don 

Quixote,         .       .       .       .       .       .       .  14 

IV.  Of  what  befell  our  Knight  when  he  left  the  Inn,  .  21 

V.  How  Don  Quixote  returned  home,  and  what  hap- 
pened to  his  Library,  and  how  he  sallied 
forth  a  second  time  to  seek  Adventures,       .  30 

VI.  Of  the  dreadful  and  never-to-be-imagined  Adven- 
ture of  the  Windmills,  and  of  the  fearful 
Battle  which  the  gallant  Biscayan  fought 
with  Don  Quixote,        .       .       .  .  38 

VII.  Of  what  passed  between  Don  Quixote  and  the 
Goatherds,  and  of  the  unfortunate  Adventure 
with  the  Yanguesian  Carriers,       ...  48 

VIII.  How  Don  Quixote  arrived  at  an  Inn  which  he 
imagined  to  be  a  Castle,  and  there  cured 
himself  and  Sancho   with  the   Balsam  of 
Fierabras,       .       .       .       .       .       .       .  58 

IX.  How  Sancho  pa;d  the  Reckoning  at  the  Inn 

which  Don  Quixote  supposed  was  a  Castle,  .  68 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAP.  PAGE 

X.  Of  the  Adventure  of  the  Two  Armies,    .       .  75 

XI.  Of  a  wonderful  Adventure  which  Don  Quixote 
went  through  without  peril  to  himself  or 
Sancho,     .   83 

XII.  The  great  Adventure  and  rich  Winning  of  the 

Helmet  of  Mambrino,       ....  92 

XIII.  How  Don  Quixote  set  at  liberty  many  poor 

Wretches  who  were  being  taken  to  a 
Place  to  which  they  had  no  wish  to  go,    .  98 

XIV.  Of  what  befell  Don  Quixote  in  the  Brown 

Mountains,       .       .       .  .  .108 

XV.  The  Story  of  Cardenio,    .       .       .       .  1 1 8 

XVI.  Of  the  Strange  Adventures  that  happened  to 
the  Knight  of  the  Mancha  in  the  Brown 
Mountains,  and  of  the  Penance  he  did 
there  in  imitation  of  Beltenebros,     .       .  126 

XVII.  Of  Sancho's  Journey  to  the  Lady  Dulcinea,   .  136 

XVIII.  The  Story  of  Cardenio  continued,  .       .       .  143 

XIX.  The  Story   of  Dorothea,   who   loved  Don 

Fernando,  .       .       .       .       .       .  .152 

XX.  Of  the  pleasant  Plan  they  carried  out  to  per- 
suade Don  Quixote  not  to  continue  his 
Penance,    .       .       .       .       .       ...  160 

XXI.  Of  the  Journey  to  the  Inn,      ....  168 

XXII.  The  Story  Sancho  Panza  told  his  Master  of 

his  Visit  to  the  Lady  Dulcinea,       .       .  177 

XXIII.  What  happened  during  their  further  Journey 

towards  the  Inn,       .       .       .       .     -  .  184 


CONTENTS 


CHAT. 


PAGE 


XXIV.  Of  the  extraordinary  Battle  which  Don 
Quixote  waged  with  what  he  took  to 
be  a  Giant,       .       .       .       .       .       .  191 

XXV.  Which  treats  of  other  rare  Adventures  which 

happened  at  the  Inn,       ....  198 

XXVI.  Wherein    is   continued  the    History  of  the 


XXVII.  Of  the  strange  Enchantment  of  the  Unfor- 


XXVIII.  Wherein  is  continued  the  wonderful  Adven- 
tures at  the  Inn,       .....  220 

XXIX.  Wherein  is  finally  decided  the  Dispute  about 

Mambrino's  Helmet  and  the  Pannel,       .  227 

XXX.  In  which  is  finished  the  notable  Adventures 

of  our  good  Knight,  ...  -  236 


famous  Princess  Micomicona,  . 


205 


tunate  Knight,  . 


212 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FULL  PAGES 

TITLE-PAGE. 

DON  QUIXOTE  TESTING  His  VISOR,  .  .  Frontispiece 
DON  QUIXOTE  KNIGHTED  BY  THE  INNKEEPER,  facing  page  14 

THE  WINDMILLS,              .             .             .  ,,38 

THE  GOATHERDS,  „  48 

THE  TOSSING  OF  SANCHO,          ...  68 

THE  HELMET  OF  MAMBRINO,     .             .             .  ,,92 

MEETING  CARDENIO,        .             .             ...  „  108 

DON  QUIXOTE'S  PENANCE,          .             .             ,  „         1 26 

MEETING  DOROTHEA,       .             .             .             .  „  160 

THE  WINE-SKINS,             .                          ,             .  ,,191 

DON  QUIXOTE'S  ENCHANTMENT,            .            .  „  212 

HALF  PAGES 

PAGE 

DON  QUIXOTE  WATCHING  HIS  ARMOUR,  .  .  7 

DON  QUIXOTE  TO  THE  RESCUE  OF  ANDREW,  .  .  21 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

PAGE 

THE  INSTRUCTION  OF  DON  QUIXOTE'S  LIBRARY        .  30 

THE  MANNER  OF  DON  QUIXOTE'S  TRAVEL  TO  THE  INN,  58 

OF  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  TWO  ARMIES,    .             .  75 

OF  A  WONDERFUL  ADVENTURE,             .                          .  83 

DON  QUIXOTE  FREES  THE  GALLEY  SLAVES,     .             .  98 

THE  STORY  OF  CARDENIO,           .             .             .  Il8 

THE  CURATE  AND  THE  BARBER  IN  DISGUISE,              .  1 36 

THE  STORY  OF  CARDENIO  CONTINUED,             .             .  143 

THE  DISCOVERY  OF  DOROTHEA,              .             .             .  1 52 

SANCHO  PANZA  RECOVERS  HIS  DAPPLE,            .             .  1 68 

SANCHO'S     STORY     OF     HIS     VISIT     TO     THE  LADY 

DULCINEA,      .  .  .  .  .  .177 

ANDREW  SALUTES  DON  QUIXOTE,          .             .             .  1 84 

OF  THE  RARE  ADVENTURES  AT  THE  INN,       .             .  198 

DON  QUIXOTE  ADDRESSING  DOROTHEA,            .             .  20$ 

THE  DISPUTED  POMMEL,              .             .                          .  220 

DON  QUIXOTE  ARRESTED,            .             .             .    *  227 

THE  MANNER  OF  DON  QUIXOTE'S  RETURN  HOME,     .  236 


CHAPTER  I 


An  Introduction  to  that  famous  gentleman, 
Don  Ouixote  of  the  Mancha 

This  is  the  story  that  Miguel  de  Cervantes,  Spaniard, 
published  in  1605,  which  the  world  has  been  reading 
again  and  again  ever  since. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  in  a  certain  village  in 
a  province  of  Spain  called  the  Mancha,  a  gentleman 
named  Quixada  or  Queseda  —  for  indeed  historians 
differ  about  this — whose  house  was  full  of  old  lances, 
halberds,  and  such  other  armours  and  weapons.  He 
was,  besides,  the  owner  of  an  ancient  target  or  shield, 
a  raw-boned  steed,  and  a  swift  greyhound.  His  pot 
consisted  daily  of  common  meats,  some  lentils  on 
Fridays,  and  perhaps  a  roast  pigeon  for  Sunday's 
dinner.  His  dress  was  a  black  suit  with  velvet  breeches, 
and  slippers  of  the  same  colour,  which  he  kept  for 
holidays,  and  a  suit  of  homespun  which  he  wore  on 
week-days. 

On  the  purchase  of  these  few  things  he  spent  the 
small  rents  that  came  to  him  every  year.  He  had  in 
his  house  a  woman-servant  of  about  some  forty  years 
old,  a  Niece  not  yet  twenty,  and  a  lad  that  served  him 


2  THE  STORY- OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

both  in  field  and  at  home,  and  could  saddle  his  horse  or 
manage  a  pruning-hook. 

The  master  himself  was  about  fifty  years  old,  a  strong, 
hard-featured  man  with  a  withered  face.  He  was  an 
early  riser,  and  had  once  been  very  fond  of  hunting. 
But  now  for  a  great  portion  of  the  year  he  applied  him- 
self wholly  to  reading  the  old  books  of  Knighthood, 
and  this  with  such  keen  delight  that  he  forgot  all  about 
the  pleasures  of  the  chase,  and  neglected  all  house- 
hold matters.  His  mania  and  folly  grew  to  such  a 
pitch  that  he  sold  many  acres  of  his  lands  to  buy 
books  of  the  exploits  and  adventures  of  the  Knights 
of  old.  These  he  took  for  true  and  correct  histories, 
and  when  his  friends  the  Curate  of  the  village,  or  Mr. 
Nicholas  the  worthy  Barber  of  the  town,  came  to  see 
him,  he  would  dispute  with  them  as  to  which  of  the 
Knights  of  romance  had  done  the  greatest  deeds. 

So  eagerly  did  he  plunge  into  the  reading  of  these 
books  that  he  many  times  spent  whole  days  and  nights 
poring  over  them  ;  and  in  the  end,  through  little  sleep 
and  much  reading,  his  brain  became  tired,  and  he  fairly 
lost  his  wits.  His  fancy  was  filled  with  those  things 
that  he  read,  of  enchantments,  quarrels,  battles,  chal- 
lenges, wounds,  wooings,  loves,  tempests,  and  other 
impossible  follies,  and  those  romantic  tales  so  firmly 
took  hold  of  him  that  he  believed  no  history  to  be 
so  certain  and  sincere  as  they  were. 

Finally,  his  wit  being  extinguished,  he  was  seized 
with  one  of  the  strangest  whims  that  ever  madman 
stumbled  on  in  this  world,  for  it  seemed  to  him  right 


AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  DON  QUIXOTE  3 


and  necessary  that  he  himself  should  become  a  Knight 
Errant,  and  ride  through  the  world  in  arms  to  seek 
adventures  and  practise  in  person  all  that  he  had  read 
about  the  Knights  of  old.  Therefore  he  resolved  that 
he  would  make  a  name,  for  himself  by  revenging  the 
injuries  of  others,  and  courting  all  manner  of  dangers 
and  difficulties,  until  in  the  end  he  should  be  rewarded 
for  his  valour  in  arms  by  the  crown  of  some  mighty 
Empire.  And  first  of  all  he  caused  certain  old  rusty  arms 
that  belonged  to  his  great-grandfather,  and  had  lain 
for  many  years  neglected  and  forgotten  in  a  by- corner 
of  his  house,  to  be  brought  out  and  well  scoured.  He 
trimmed  them  and  dressed  them  as  well  as  he  could,  and 
then  saw  that  they  had  something  wanting,  for  instead 
of  a  proper  helmet  they  had  only  a  morion  or  headpiece, 
like  a  steel  bonnet  without  any  visor.  This  his  industry 
supplied,  for  he  made  a  visor  for  his  helmet  by  patching 
and  pasting  certain  papers  together,  and  this  paste- 
board fitted  to  the  morion  gave  it  all  the  appearance  of 
a  real  helmet.  Then,  to  make  sure  that  it  was  strong 
enough,  he  out  with  his  sword  and  gave  it  a  blow  or 
two,  and  with  the  very  first  did  quite  undo  that  which 
had  cost  him  a  week  to  make.  He  did  not  at  all 
approve  the  ease  with  which  it  was  destroyed,  and  to 
make  things  better  he  placed  certain  iron  bars  within 
it,  in  such  a  manner  that  made  him  feel  sure  it  was 
now  sound  and  strong,  without  putting  it  to  a  second 
trial. 

He  next  visited  his  horse,  who  though  he  had  more 
corners  than  a  Spanish  real  or  shilling,  which  in  those 


4         THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

days  was  anything  but  round,  and  had  nothing  on  him 
but  skin  and  bone,  yet  he  seemed  to  him  a  better  steed 
than  Bucephalus,  the  noble  animal  that  carried  Alex- 
ander the  Great  when  he  went  to  battle.  He  spent  four 
days  inventing  a  name  for  his  horse,  saying  to  himself 
that  it  was  not  fit  that  so  famous  a  Knight's  horse,  and 
so  good  a  beast,  should  want  a  known  name.  Therefore 
he  tried  to  find  a  name  that  should  both  give  people 
some  notion  of  what  he  had  been  before  he  was  the 
steed  of  a  Knight  Errant,  and  also  what  he  now  was  ; 
for,  seeing  that  his  lord  and  master  was  going  to 
change  his  calling,  it  was  only  right  that  his  horse  should 
have  a  new  name,  famous  and  high-sounding,  and  worthy 
of  his  new  position  in  life.  And  after  having  chosen, 
made  up,  put  aside,  and  thrown  over  any  number  of 
names  as  not  coming  up  to  his  idea,  he  finally  hit  upon 
Rozinante,  a  name  in  his  opinion  sublime  and  well- 
sounding,  expressing  in  a  word  what  he  had  been  when 
he  was  a  simple  carriage  horse,  and  what  was  expected 
of  him  in  his  new  dignity. 

The  name  being  thus  given  to  his  horse,  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  give  himself  a  name  also,  and  in  that  thought 
laboured  another  eight  days.  Finally  he  determined  to 
call  himself  Don  Quixote,  which  has  made  people  think 
that  his  name  was  Quixada  and  not  Queseda,  as  others 
have  said  ;  and  remembering  that  the  great  Knights  of 
olden  time  were  not  satisfied  with  a  mere  dry  name,  but 
added  to  it  the  name  of  their  kingdom  or  country,  so  he 
like  a  £ood  Knight  added  to  his  own  that  also  of  his 
province,  and  called  himself  Don  Quixote  of  the  Mancha, 


\ 


AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  DON  QUIXOTE  5 

whereby  he  declared  his  birthplace  and  did  honour  to 
his  country  by  taking  it  for  his  surname. 

His  armour  being  scoured,  his  morion  transformed 
into  a  helmet,  his  horse  named,  and  himself  furnished 
with  a  new  name,  he  considered  that  now  he  wanted 
nothing  but  a  lady  on  whom  he  might  bestow  his  service 
and  affection.  '  For,'  he  said  to  himself,  remembering 
what  he  had  read  in  the  books  of  knightly  adventures, 
1  if  I  should  by  good  hap  encounter  with  some  Giant, 
as  Knights  Errant  ordinarily  do,  and  if  I  should  over- 
throw him  with  one  blow  to  the  ground,  or  cut  him  with 
a  stroke  in  two  halves,  or  finally  overcome  and  make 
him  yield  to  me,  it  would  be  only  right  and  proper  that 
I  should  have  some  lady  to  whom  I  might  present  him. 
Then  would  he,  entering  my  sweet  lady's  presence,  say 
unto  her  with  a  humble  and  submissive  voice  :  "  Madam, 
I  am  the  Giant  Caraculiambro,  Lord  of  the  Island  called 
Malindrania,  whom  the  never-too-much-praised  Knight 
Don  Quixote  of  the  Mancha  hath  overcome  in  single 
combat.  He  hath  commanded  me  to  present  myself  to 
your  greatness,  that  it  may  please  your  Highness  to  dis- 
pose of  me  according  to  your  liking."  ' 

You  may  believe  that  the  heart  of  the  Knight  danced 
for  joy  when  he  made  that  grand  speech,  and  he  was 
even  more  pleased  when  he  had  found  out  one  whom  he 
might  call  his  lady.  For,  they  say,  there  lived  in  the 
next  village  to  his  own  a  hale,  buxom  country  wench 
with  whom  he  was  sometime  in  love,  though  for  the 
matter  of  that  she  had  never  known  of  it  or  taken  any 
notice   of  him  whatever.     She   was   called  Aldonca 


o  THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

Lorenso,  and  her  he  thought  fittest  to  honour  as  the  lady 
of  his  fancy.  Then  he  began  to  search  about  in  his 
mind  for  a  name  that  should  not  vary  too  much  from  her 
own,  but  should  at  the  same  time  show  people  that  she 
was  a  Princess  or  lady  of  quality.  Thus  it  was  that 
he  called  her  Dulcinea  of  Toboso,  a  name  sufficiently 
strange,  romantic,  and  musical  for  the  lady  of  so  brave 
a  Knight.  And  now,  having  taken  to  himself  both 
armour,  horse,  and  lady  fair,  he  was  ready  to  go  forth 
and  seek  adventures. 


All  his  preparations  being  made,  he  could  no  longer 
resist  the  desire  of  carrying  out  his  plans,  his  head  being 
full  of  the  wrongs  he  intended  to  put  right,  the  errors  he 
wished  to  amend,  and  the  evil  deeds  he  felt  himself 
called  upon  to  punish.  And,  therefore,  without  telling 
any  living  creature,  and  unseen  of  anybody,  somewhat 
before  daybreak — it  being  one  of  the  warmest  days  in 
July — he  armed  himself  from  head  to  foot,  mounted  on 
Rozinante,  laced  on  his  strange  helmet,  gathered  up  his 
target,  seized  his  lance,  and  through  the  back  door 
of  his  yard  sallied  forth  into  the  fields,  marvellously 

7 


B 


o 
o 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


cheerful  and  content  to  see  how  easily  he  had  started 
on  his  new  career.  But  scarcely  was  he  clear  of  the 
village  when  he  was  struck  by  a  terrible  thought,  and 
one  which  did  well-nigh  overthrow  all  his  plans.  For 
he  recollected  that  he  had  never  been  knighted,  and 
therefore,  according  to  the  laws  of  Knighthood,  neither 
could  he  nor  ought  he  to  combat  with  any  Knight.  And 
even  if  he  were  a  Knight,  he  remembered  to  have  read 
that  as  a  new  Knight  he  ought  to  wear  white  armour 
without  any  device  upon  his  shield  until  he  should  win 
it  by  force  of  arms. 

These  thoughts  made  him  waver  a  little  in  his  plan  ; 
but  more  for  the  reason  that  his  head  was  full  of  his 
folly  than  for  any  other,  he  determined  to  cause  himself 
to  be  knighted  by  the  first  he  met,  as  others  had  done 
of  whom  he  had  read  in  the  books  which  had  so  turned 
his  brain.  As  to  the  white  armour,  he  resolved  at  the 
first  opportunity  to  scour  his  own  until  it  should  be 
whiter  than  ermine ;  and,  having  satisfied  himself  with 
these  intentions,  he  pursued  his  way  without  following 
any  other  road  than  that  which  his  horse  was  pleased  to 
choose,  believing  that  to  be  the  most  correct  way  of 
meeting  with  knightly  adventures.  And  as  he  rode 
along  he  exclaimed  to  the  empty  air  as  if  he  had  been 
actually  in  love  :  '  O  Princess  Dulcinea,  Lady  of  this 
captive  heart,  much  wrong  hast  thou  done  me  by 
dismissing  me  and  reproaching  me  with  thy  cruel 
commandment  not  to  appear  before  thy  beauty !  I  pray 
thee,  sweet  Lady,  to  remember  this  thy  faithful  slave, 
who  for  thy  love  suffers  so  many  tortures/ 


DON  QUIXOTE'S  FIRST  SALLY  9 

A  thousand  other  ravings,  after  the  style  and  manner 
that  his  books  had  taught  him,  did  he  add  to  this  as 
he  travelled  along,  meeting  with  no  adventure  worthy 
to  be  set  down,  whilst  the  sun  mounted  so  swiftly  and 
with  so  great  heat  that  it  would  have  been  sufficient  to 
have  melted  his  brains  if  he  had  had  any  left. 

He  journeyed  all  that  day  long,  and  at  night  both  he 
and  his  horse  were  tired  and  marvellously  pressed  by 
hunger,  and  looking  about  him  on  every  side  to  see 
whether  he  could  discover  any  Castle  to  which  he  might 
retire  for  the  night,  he  saw  an  Inn  near  unto  the  high- 
way on  which  he  travelled,  which  was  as  welcome  a 
sight  to  him  as  if  he  had  seen  a  guiding  star.  Then 
spurring  his  horse  he  rode  towards  it  as  fast  as  he  might, 
and  arrived  there  much  about  nightfall. 

There  stood  by  chance  at  the  Inn  door  two  jolly 
peasant  women  who  were  travelling  towards  Seville  with 
some  carriers,  who  happened  to  take  up  their  lodging  in 
that  Inn  the  same  evening.  And  as  our  Knight  Errant 
believed  all  that  he  saw  or  heard  to  take  place  in  the 
same  manner  as  he  had  read  in  his  books,  he  no  sooner 
saw  the  Inn  than  he  fancied  it  to  be  a  Castle  with  four 
turrets  and  pinnacles  of  shining  silver,  with  a  draw- 
bridge, a  deep  moat,  and  all  such  things  as  belong  to 
grand  Castles.  Drawing  slowly  towards  it,  he  checked 
Rozinante  with  the  bridle  when  he  was  close  to  the  Inn, 
and  rested  awhile  to  see  if  any  dwarf  would  mount  on 
the  battlements  to  give  warning  with  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet  how  some  Knight  did  approach  the  Castle  ;  but 
seeing  they  stayed  so  long,  and  Rozinante  was  eager  to 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


get  up  to  his  stable,  he  went  to  the  Inn  door,  and  there 
beheld  the  two  wenches  that  stood  at  it,  whom  he 
supposed  to  be  two  beautiful  damsels  or  lovely  ladies 
that  did  solace  themselves  before  the  Castle  gates.  At 
that  moment  it  happened  that  a  certain  swineherd,  as  he 
gathered  together  his  hogs,  blew  the  horn  which  was 
wont  to  bring  them  together,  and  at  once  'Don  Quixote 
imagined  it  was  some  dwarf  who  gave  notice  of  his 
arrival ;  and  he  rode  up  to  the  Inn  door  with  marvellous 
delight.  The  ladies,  when  they  beheld  one  armed  in 
that  manner  with  lance  and  target,  made  haste  to  run 
into  the  Inn;  but  Don  Quixote,  seeing  their  fear  by  their 
flight,  lifted  up  his  pasteboard  visor,  showed  his  withered 
and  dusky  face,  and  spoke  to  them  thus  :  '  Let  not  your 
ladyships  fly  nor  fear  any  harm,  for  it  does  not  belong- 
to  the  order  of  Knighthood  which  I  profess  to  wrong 
anybody,  much  less  such  high-born  damsels  as  your 
appearance  shows  you  to  be.' 

The  wenches  looked  at  him  very  earnestly,  and  sought 
with  their  eyes  for  his  face,  which  the  ill-fashioned 
helmet  concealed;  but  when  they  heard  themselves, 
called  high-born  damsels,  they  could  not  contain  their 
laughter,  which  was  so  loud  that  Don  Quixote  was 
quite  ashamed  of  them  and  rebuked  them,  saying : 
'  Modesty  is  a  comely  ornament  of  the  beautiful,  and  too 
much  laughter  springing  from  trifles  is  great  folly  ;  but  I 
do  not  tell  you  this  to  make  you  the  more  ashamed,  for 
my  desire  is  none  other  than  to  do  you  all  the  honour 
and  service  I  may.' 

This  speech  merely  increased  their  laughter,  and  with 


DON  QUIXOTE'S  FIRST  SALLY  n 

it  his  anger,  which  would  have  passed  all  bounds  if 
the  Innkeeper  had  not  come  out  at  this  instant.  Now 
this  Innkeeper  was  a  man  of  exceeding  fatness,  and 
therefore,  as  some  think,  of  a  very  peaceable  disposition  ; 
and  when  he  saw  that  strange  figure,  armed  in  such 
fantastic  armour,  he  was  very  nearly  keeping  the  two 
women  company  in  their  merriment  and  laughter.  But 
being  afraid  of  the  owner  of  such  a  lance  and  target,  he 
resolved  to  behave  civilly  for  fear  of  what  might  happen, 
and  thus  addressed  him  :  1  Sir  Knight !  if  your  Worship 
do  seek  for  lodging,  we  have  no  bed  at  liberty,  but  you 
shall  find  all  other  things  in  abundance.' 

To  which  Don  Quixote,  noting  the  humility  of  the 
Constable  of  the  Castle — for  such  he  took  him  to  be — 
replied  :  '  Anything,  Sir  Constable,  may  serve  me,  for 
my  arms  are  my  dress,  and  the  battlefield  is  my 
bed.' 

While  he  was  speaking,  the  Innkeeper  laid  hand  on 
Don  Quixote's  stirrup  and  helped  him  to  alight.  This 
he  did  with  great  difficulty  and  pain,  for  he  had  not 
eaten  a  crumb  all  that  day.  He  then  bade  the  Inn- 
keeper have  special  care  of  his  horse,  saying  he  was  one 
of  the  best  animals  that  ever  ate  bread. 

The  Innkeeper  looked  at  Rozinante  again  and  again, 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  him  half  so  good  as  Don  Quixote 
valued  him.  However,  he  led  him  civilly  to  the  stable, 
and  returned  to  find  his  guest  in  the  hands  of  the  high- 
born damsels,  who  were  helping  him  off  with  his  armour. 
They  had  taken  off  his  back  and  breast  plates,  but 
they  could  in  no  way  get  his  head  and  neck  out  of  the 


12        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

strange,  ill-fashioned  helmet  which  he  had  fastened  on 
with  oreen  ribands. 

Now  these  knots  were  so  impossible  to  untie  that  the 
wenches  would  have  cut  them,  but  this  Don  Quixote 
would  not  agree  to.  Therefore  he  remained  all  the 
night  with  his  helmet  on,  and  looked  the  drollest  and 
strangest  figure  you  could  imagine.  And  he  was  now 
so  pleased  with  the  women,  whom  he  still  took  to  be 
ladies  and  dames  of  the  Castle,  that  he  said  to  them  : 
'  Never  was  Knight  so  well  attended  on  and  served  by- 
ladies  as  was  Don  Quixote.  When  he  departed  from 
his  village,  damsels  attended  on  him  and  princesses  on 
his  horse.  O  ladies !  Rozinante  is  the  name  of  my 
steed,  and  I  am  called  Don  Quixote,  and  the  time  shall 
come  when  your  ladyships  may  command  me  and  I 
obey,  and  then  the  valour  of  mine  arm  shall  discover  the 
desire  I  have  to  do  you  service.' 

The  women  could  make  nothing  of  his  talk,  but  asked 
him  if  he  would  eat,  and  Don  Quixote  replying  that  such 
was  his  desire,  there  was  straightway  laid  a  table  at  the 
Inn  door.  The  Host  brought  out  a  portion  of  badly 
boiled  haddocks,  and  a  black,  greasy  loaf,  which  was  all 
the  Inn  could  supply.  But  the  manner  of  Don  Quixote's 
eating  was  the  best  sport  in  the  world,  for  with  his 
helmet  on  he  could  put  nothing  into  his  mouth  himself 
if  others  did  not  help  him  to  find  his  way,  and  therefore 
one  of  the  wenches  served  his  turn  at  that,  and  helped 
to  feed  him.     But  thev  could  not  o-ive  him  drink  after 

J  o 

that  manner,  and  he  would  have  remained  dry  for  ever 
if  the  Innkeeper  had  not  bored  a  cane,  and  putting  one 


DON  QUIXOTE'S  FIRST  SALLY  13 

end  in  his  mouth,  poured  the  wine  down  the  other.  And 
all  this  he  suffered  rather  than '  cut  the  ribands  of  his 
helmet. 

And  as  he  sat  at  supper  the  swineherd  again  sounded 
his  horn,  and  Don  Quixote  was  still  firm  in  the  belief 
that  he  was  in  some  famous  Castle  where  he  was  served 
with  music,  and  that  the  stale  haddock  was  fresh  trout, 
the  bread  of  the  finest  flour,  the  two  wenches  high-born 
damsels,  and  the  Innkeeper  the  Constable  of  the  Castle. 
Thus  he  thought  his  career  of  Knight  Errant  was  well 
begun,  but  he  was  still  greatly  troubled  by  the  thought 
that  he  was  not  yet  dubbed  Knight,  and  could  not 
therefore  rightly  follow  his  adventures  until  he  received 
the  honour  of  Knighthood. 


14 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAPTER  III 

Of  the  Pleasant  Manner  of  the  Knighting  of 
.  Don  Quixote 

When  he  had  finished  his  sorry  supper,  he  took  his  host 
with  him  to  the  stable,  and  shutting  the  door  threw 
himself  down  upon  his  knees  before  him,  saying  :  '  I  will 
never  rise  from  this  place  where  I  am,  Sir  Constable, 
until  your  courtesy  shall  grant  unto  me  a  boon  that  I 
mean  to  demand  of  you,  something  which  will  add  to 
your  renown  and  to  the  profit  of  all  the  human  race.' 

The  Innkeeper,  seeing  his  guest  at  his  feet,  and  hear- 
ing him  speak  these  wqrds,  stood  confounded  at  the 
sight,  not  knowing  what  he  would  say  or  do  next,  and 
tried  to  make  him  arise.  But  all  was  in  vain  until  he 
had  promised  him  that  he  would  prant  him  any  gift 
that  he  sought  at  his  hands. 

'  Signor/  said  Don  Quixote,  rising  from  his  knees,  '  I 
did  never  expect  less  from  your  great  magnificence,  and 
now  I  will  tell  you  that  the  boon  which  I  demand  of 
you,  and  which  you  have  so  generously  granted,  is  that 
to-morrow  in  the  morning  you  will  dub  me  Knight. 
This  night  I  will  watch  mine  armour  in  the  Chapel  of 
your  Castle,  and  in  the  morning,  as  I  have  said,  the  rest 
of  my  desires  shall  be  fulfilled,  that  I  may  set  out  in  a 


THE  KNiGHTlttdlor, 
DON  QUIXOTE*  j. 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAPTER  III 

Of  the  Pleasant  Manner  of  the  Knighting  of 
Don  Quixote 

When  he  had  finished  his  sorry  supper,  he  took  his  host 
with  him  to  the  stable,  and  shutting  the  door  threw 
himself  down  upon  his  knees  before  him,  saying  :  '  I  will 
never  rise  from  this  place  where  I  am,  Sir  Constable, 
until  your  courtesy  shall  grant  unto  me  a  boon  that  I 
mean  to  demand  of  you,  something  which  will  add  to 
your  renown  and  to  the  profit  of  all  the  human  race.' 

The  Innkeeper,  seeing  his  guest  at  his  feet,  and  hear- 
ing him  speak  these  wqrds,  stood  confounded  at  the 
sight,  not  knowing  what  he  would  say  or  do  next,  and 
tried  to  make  him  arise.  But  all  was  in  vain  until  he 
had  promised  him  that  he  would  grant  him  any  gift 
that  he  sought  at  his  hands. 

'  Signor,'  said  Don  Quixote,  rising  from  his  knees,  '  I 
did  never  expect  less  from  your  great  magnificence,  and 
now  I  will  tell  you  that  the  boon  which  I  demand  of 
you,  and  which  you  have  so  generously  granted,  is  that 
to-morrow  in  the  morning  you  will  dub  me  Knight. 
This  night  I  will  watch  mine  armour  in  the  Chapel  of 
your  Castle,  and  in  the  morning,  as  I  have  said,  the  rest 
of  my  desires  shall  be  fulfilled,  that  I  may  set  out  in  a 


■ 

- 


THE  KNIGHTING  OF  DON  QUIXOTE  15 


proper  manner  throughout  the  four  parts  of  the  world  to 
seek  adventures  to  the  benefit  of  the  poor  and  needy,  as 
is  the  duty  of  Knighthood  and  of  Knights  Errant.' 

The  Innkeeper,  who  was  a  bit  of  a  jester,  and  had 
before  thought  that  the  wits  of  his  guest  were  none  of 
the  best,  was  sure  that  his  suspicions  were  true  when  he 
heard  him  speak  in  this  manner.  And  in  order  to  enjoy 
a  joke  at  his  expense,  he  resolved  to  fall  in  with  his 
humour,  and  told  him  that  there  was  great  reason  in 
what  he  desired,  which  was  only  natural  and  proper  in 
a  .Knight  of  such  worth  as  he  seemed  to  be.  He  added 
further  that  there  was  no  Chapel  in  his  Castle  where  he 
might  watch  his  arms,  for  he  had  broken  it  down  to 
build  it  up  anew.  But,  nevertheless,  he  knew  well  that 
in  a  case  of  necessity  they  might  be  watched  in  any  other 
place,  and  therefore  he  might  watch  them  that  night  in 
the  lower  court  of  the  Castle,  where  in  the  morning  he, 
the  Innkeeper,  would  perform  all  the  proper  ceremonies, 
so  that  he  should  be  made  not  only  a  dubbed  Knight, 
but  such  a  one  as  should  not  have  a  fellow  in  the  whole 
universe. 

The  Innkeeper  now  gave  orders  that  Don  Quixote 
should  watch  his  armour  in  a  great  yard  that  lay  near 
unto  one  side  of  the  Inn,  wherefore  he  gathered  together 
all  his  arms,  laid  them  on  a  cistern  near  to  a  well,  and 
buckling  on  his  target  he  laid  hold  of  his  lance  and 
walked  up  and  down  before  the  cistern  very  demurely, 
until  night  came  down  upon  the  scene. 

In  the  meantime  the  roguish  Innkeeper  told  all  the 
rest  that  lodged  in  the  Inn  of  the  folly  of  his  guest,  the 


16        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


watching  of  his  arms,  and  the  Knighthood  which  he 
expected  to  receive.  They  all  wondered  very  much  at  so 
strange  a  kind  of  folly,  and  going  out  to  behold  him  from 
a  distance,  they  saw  that  sometimes  he  marched  to  and 
fro  with  a  quiet  gesture,  other  times  leaning  upon  his 
lance  he  looked  upon  his  armour  for  a  good  space  of 
time  without  beholding  any  other  thing  save  his  arms. 

Although  it  was  now  night,  yet  was  the  moon  so  clear 
that  everything  which  the  Knight  did  was  easily  seen  by 
all  beholders.  And  now  one  of  the  carriers  that  lodged 
in  the  Inn  resolved  to  give  his  mules  some  water,  and  for 
that  purpose  it  was  necessary  to  move  Don  Quixote's 
armour  that  lay  on  the  cistern. 

Seeing  the  carrier  approach,  Don  Quixote  called  to 
him  in  a  loud  voice :  '  O  thou,  whosoever  thou  art, 
bold  Knight,  who  dares  to  touch  the  armour  of  the 
bravest  adventurer  that  ever  girded  sword,  look  well 
what  thou  doest,  and  touch  them  not  if  thou  meanest  not 
to  leave  thy  life  in  payment  for  thy  meddling ! ' 

The  carrier  took  no  notice  of  these  words,  though 
it  were  better  for  him  if  he  had,  but  laying  hold  of  the 
armour  threw  it  piece  by  piece  into  the  middle  of  the 
yard. 

When  Don  Quixote  saw  this,  he  lifted  up  his  eyes 
towards  heaven,  and  addressing  his  thoughts,  as  it 
seemed,  to  his  Lady  Dulcinea,  he  said :  '  Assist  me, 
dear  Lady,  in  this  insult  offered  to  thy  vassal,  and  let 
not  thy  favour  and  protection  fail  me  in  this  my  first 
adventure ! ' 

Uttering  these  and  other  such  words,  he  let  slip  his 


THE  KNIGHTING  OF  DON  QUIXOTE  17 


target  or  shield,  and  lifting  up  his  lance  with  both  hands 
he  gave  the  carrier  so  round  a  knock  on  his  pate  that  it 
overthrew  him  on  to  the  ground,  and  if  he  had  caught 
him  a  second  he  would  not  have  needed  any  surgeon  to 
cure  him.  This  done,  he  gathered  up  his  armour  again, 
and  laying  the  pieces  where  they  had  been  before,  he 
began  walking  up  and  down  near  them  with  as  much 
quietness  as  he  did  at  first. 

But  very  soon  afterwards  another  carrier,  without 
knowing  what  had  happened,  for  his  companion  yet  lay 
on  the  ground,  came  also  to  give  his  mules  water,  and 
coming  to  take  away  the  armour  to  get  at  the  cistern, 
Don  Quixote  let  slip  again  his  target,  and  lifting  his 
lance  brought  it  down  on  the  carrier's  head,  which  he 
broke  in  several  places. 

All  the  people  in  the  Inn,  and  amongst  them  the  Inn- 
keeper, came  running"  out  when  they  heard  the  noise,  and 
Don  Quixote  seeing  them  seized  his  target,  and,  drawing 
his  sword,  cried  aloud  :  '  O  Lady  of  all  beauty,  now,  if 
ever,  is  the  time  for  thee  to  turn  the  eyes  of  thy  great- 
ness on  thy  Captive  Knight  who  is  on  the  eve  of  so 
marvellous  great  an  adventure.' 

Saying  this  seemed  to  fill  him  with  so  great  a  courage, 
that  if  he  had  been  assaulted  by  all  the  carriers  in  the 
universe  he  would  not  have  retreated  one  step. 

The  companions  of  the  wounded  men,  seeing  their 
jellows  in  so  evil  a  plight,  began  to  rain  stones  on  Don 
Quixote  from  a  distance,  who  defended  himself  as  well 
as  he  might  with  his  target,  and  durst  not  leave  the 
cistern  lest  he  should  appear  to  abandon  his  arms, 

B 


18        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


The  Innkeeper  cried  to  them  to  let  him  alone,  for 
he  had  already  told  them  that  he  was  mad.  But  all  the 
time  Don  Quixote  cried  out  louder  than  the  Innkeeper, 
calling  them  all  disloyal  men  and  traitors,  and  that  the 
Lord  of  the  Castle  was  a  treacherous  and  bad  Knight  to 
allow  them  to  use  a  Knight  Errant  so  basely ;  and  if  he 
had  only  received  the  order  of  Knighthood  he  would 
have  punished  him  soundly  for  his  treason.  Then 
calling  to  the  carriers  he  said  :  *  As  for  you  base  and 
rascally  ruffians,  you  are  beneath  my  notice.  Throw  at 
me,  approach,  draw  near  and  do  me  all  the  hurt  you 
may,  for  you  shall  ere  long  receive  the  reward  of  your 
insolence.' 

These  words,  which  he  spoke  with  great  spirit  and 
boldness,  struck  a  terrible  fear  into  all  those  who 
assaulted  him,  and,  partly  moved  by  his  threats  and 
partly  persuaded  by  the  Innkeeper,  they  left  off  throw- 
ing stones  at  him,  and  he  allowed  them  to  carry  away 
the  wounded  men,  while  he  returned  to  his  watch  with 
great  quietness  and  gravity. 

The  Innkeeper  did  not  very  much  like  Don  Quixote's 
pranks,  and  therefore  determined  to  shorten  the  ceremony 
and  give  him  the  order  of  Knighthood  at  once  before 
any  one  else  was  injured.  Approaching  him,  therefore, 
he  made  apologies  for  the  insolence  of  the  base  fellows 
who  had  thrown  stones  at  him,  and  explained  that  it  was 
not  with  his  consent,  and  that  he  thought  them  well 
punished  for  their  impudence  He  added  that  it  was 
not  necessary  for  Don  Quixote  to  watch  his  armour  any 
more,  because  the  chief  point  of  being  knighted  was 


THE  KNIGHTING  OF  DON  QUIXOTE  19 


to  receive  the  stroke  of  the  sword  on  the  neck  and 
shoulder,  and  that  ceremony  he  was  ready  to  perform 
at  once. 

All  this  Don  Quixote  readily  believed,  and  answered 
that  he  was  most  eager  to  obey  him,  and  requested  him 
to  finish  everything  as  speedily  as  possible.  For,  he 
said,  as  soon  as  he  was  knighted,  if  he  was  assaulted 
again,  he  intended  not  to  leave  one  person  alive  in  all 
the  Castle,  except  those  which  the  Constable  should 
command,  whom  he  would  spare  for  his  sake. 

The  Innkeeper,  alarmed  at  what  he  said,  and  fearing 
lest  he  should  carry  out  his  threat,  set  about  the  ceremony 
without  delay.  He  brought  out  his  day-book,  in  which 
he  wrote  down  the  accounts  of  the  hay  and  straw  which 
he  sold  to  carriers  who  came  to  the  Inn,  and  attended  by 
a  small  boy  holding  the  end  of  a  candle  and  walking 
before  him,  and  followed  by  the  two  women  who  were 
staying  at  the  Inn,  he  approached  Don  Quixote.  He 
solemnly  commanded  him  to  kneel  upon  his  knees, 
while  he  mumbled  something  which  he  pretended  to 
read  out  of  the  book  that  he  held  in  his  hand.  Then 
he  gave  him  a  good  blow  on  the  neck,  and  after  that 
another  sound  thwack  over  the  shoulders  with  his  own 
sword,  always  as  he  did  so  continuing  to  mumble  and 
murmur  as  though  he  were  reading  something  out  of 
his  book.  This  being  done,  he  commanded  one  of  the 
damsels  to  gird  on  his  sword,  which  she  did  with  much 
grace  and  cleverness.  And  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
they  all  kept  from  laughing  during  this  absurd  cere- 
mony, but  what  they  had  already  seen  of  Don  Quixote's 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


fury  made  them  careful  not  to  annoy  him  even  by  a 
smile. 

When  she  had  girded  on  his  sword,  the  damsel  said  : 
'  May  you  be  a  fortunate  Knight,  and  meet  with  good 
success  in  all  your  adventures.' 

Don  Ouixote  asked  her  how  she  was  called,  that  he 
might  know  to  whom  he  was  obliged  for  the  favours  he 
had  received.  She  answered  with  great  humility  that 
she  was  named  Tolosa,  and  was  a  butcher's  daughter  of 
Toledo.4  Don  Quixote  replied  requesting  her  to  call 
herself  from  henceforth  the  Lady  Tolosa,  which  she 
promised  to  perform.  The  other  damsel  buckled  on 
his  spurs,  and  when  Don  Quixote  asked  her  name  she 
told  him  it  was  Molinera,  and  that  she  was  daughter  of 
an  honest  miller  of  Antequera.  Don  Quixote  entreated 
her  also  to  call  herself  Lady  Molinera,  and  offered  her 
new  services  and  favours. 

These  strange  and  never-before-seen  ceremonies 
being  ended,  Don  Quixote  could  not  rest  until  he  was 
mounted  on  horseback  that  he  might  go  to  seek  adven- 
tures. He  therefore  caused  Rozinante  to  be  instantly 
saddled,  leaped  on  his  back,  and  embracing  the  Inn- 
keeper, thanked  him  in  a  thousand  wild  and  ridiculous 
ways  for  the  great  favour  he  had  done  him  in  dubbing 
him  Knight.  The  Innkeeper,  who  was  only  eager  to 
be  rid  of  him  without  delay,  answered  him  in  the  same 
fashion,  and  let  him  march  off  without  demanding  from 
him  a  single  farthing  for  his  food  or  lodging. 


DON  QUIXOTE 
TOTH&7RESCUE 
OF- ANDREW  • 


CHAPTER  IV 


Of  what  befell  our  Knight  when  he  left 
the  Inn 


It  was  dawn  when  Don  Quixote  went  out  from  the 
Inn,  so  full  of  pleasure  to  behold  himself  knighted  that 
his  very  horse-girths  were  ready  to  burst  for  joy.  But 
calling  to  memory  some  advice  that  the  Innkeeper 
had  given  him,  about  the  necessity  of  carrying  with  him 
money  and  clean  shirts  when  he  went  on  his  adventures, 
he  determined  to  return  to  his  house  and  obtain  these 
things,  and  also  find  for  himself  a  Squire.  For  this 
office  he  fixed  in  his  own  mind  upon  a  ploughman,  a 
neighbour  of  his,  a  poor  man  who  had  many  children, 
but  yet  a  man  who  was  very  fit  as  he  thought  to  be 
his  Squire. 


21 


22        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

With  this  view  he  turned  Rozinante  towards  his  own 
village,  who,  knowing  that  he  was  on  his  way  home, 
began  to  trot  along  with  so  good  a  will  that  he  seemed 
not  to  touch  the  ground. 

He  had  not  travelled  far  when  he  heard  from  a 
thicket  hard  by  the  shrill  cries  of  some  weak  and  deli- 
cate mortal  in  grievous  distress. 

No  sooner  did  he  hear  them  than  he  exclaimed :  '  I 
am  indeed  thankful  for  the  favour  done  to  me  by  giving 
me  so  soon  an  opportunity  of  performing  what  is  due  to 
my  profession,  and  gathering  the  fruits  of  my  desires. 
These  cries  doubtless  come  from  some  distressed  man 
or  woman  who  has  need  of  my  protection  and  aid.' 

Then  turning  the  reins,  he  guided  Rozinante  towards 
the  place  whence  the  voice  seemed  to  proceed.  And 
within  a  few  paces  after  he  had  entered  into  the  thicket, 
he  saw  a  mare  tied  up  to  one  oak,  and  to  another  was 
tied  a  youth,  all  naked  from  the  middle  upward,  of 
about  fifteen  years  of  age.  Now  it  was  he  that  cried 
so  pitifully,  and  not  without  cause.  For  a  sturdy  fellow 
of  a  farmer  was  beating  him  soundly  with  a  girdle, 
accompanying  each  stroke  with  a  reproof  and  piece  of 
advice,  saying  :  '  The  tongue  must  peace  and  the  eyes 
be  wary.'  And  the  boy,  whose  name  was  Andrew, 
answered  :  '  I  will  never  do  it  again,  good  master,  I  will 
never  do  it  again.  I  promise  to  have  more  care  of 
your  things  from  henceforth.' 

Seeing  what  passed,  Don  Quixote  cried  out  with  an 
angry  voice:  '  111  it  beseems  you,  discourteous  Knight,  to 
deal  thus  with  one  that  cannot  defend  himself.  Mount, 


WHAT  BEFELL  ON  LEAVING  THE  INN  -3 


therefore,  on  horseback  and  take  thy  lance  (for  the 
Farmer  had  a  lance  leaning  against  the  very  same  tree 
to  which  his  mare  was  tied),  for  I  will  make  thee  know 
that  it  is  the  act  of  a  coward  to  do  that  which  thou  dost/ 

The  Farmer,  beholding  this  strange  figure  buckled 
in  armour,  and  brandishing  a  lance  over  his  head,  gave 
himself  up  for  a  dead  man,  and  answered  him  with 
mild  and  submissive  words,  saying  :  •  Sir  Knight,  the 
youth  whom  I  am  beating  is  mine  own  servant,  and 
keepeth  for  me  a  flock  of  sheep  ;  but  he  is  grown  so 
negligent  that  he  loseth  one  of  them  every  other  day, 
and  because  I  correct  him  for  his  carelessness  and 
knavery,  he  says  I  do  it  through  covetousness  and 
miserliness  so  as  not  to  pay  him  his  due  wages,  but 
on  my  conscience  I  assure  you  he  lies.' 

'  What  ?  The  lie,  in  my  presence,  rascally  clown  ! ' 
cried  Don  Quixote.  '  By  the  sun  that  shines  above  us, 
I  will  run  thee  through  and  through  with  my  lance, 
base  Carle  !  Pay  him  instantly,  without  another  word, 
or  I  will  finish  and  destroy  thee  in  a  moment.  Loose 
him  forthwith  ! ' 

The  Farmer,  hanging  down  his  head,  made  no  reply, 
but  released  poor  Andrew,  of  whom  Don  Quixote 
demanded  how  much  his  master  owed  him.  The  boy 
answered  that  it  was  nine  months'  wages  at  seven  reals 
a  month.  Casting  it  up,  Don  Quixote  found  that  it 
amounted  to  sixty- three  reals,  and  commanded  the 
Farmer  to  pay  the  money  at  once,  unless  he  had  a 
mind  to  die  for  it: 

This  the  Farmer,  who  was  in  a  terrible  fright,  promised 


c 


24        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

to  do,  but  said  he  :  1  The  worst  of  it  is,  Sir  Knight,  that 
I  have  no  money  here.  Let  Andrew  come  with  me  to 
my  house,  and  I  will  pay  him  his  wages  to  the  last  real' 
1  I  go  with  him  ? '  said  the  boy,  '  evil  befall  me  if  I  do. 
No,  Sir.  I  don't  intend  to  do  that,  for  as  soon  as  ever 
we  were  alone,  he  would  flay  me  alive/ 

i  He  will  not  dare  to  do  it,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'for 
my  command  is  sufficient  to  make  him  respect  me. 
And  on  condition  that  he  will  swear  to  me  to  carry 
out  his  promise,  by  the  order  of  Knighthood  which  he 
hath  received,  I  will  set  him  free  and  assure  thee  of  the 
payment.' 

'Good  your  worship,'  said  the  youth;  'mark  well 
what  you  say,  for  this  man  my  master  is  no  Knight, 
nor  did  he  ever  receive  any  order  of  Knighthood.  He 
is  John  Haldudo  the  rich,  and  lives  at  Quintanar/ 

'  That  is  no  matter,'  said  Don  Quixote,  '  for  there 
may  be  Knights  of  the  Haldudos.' 

1  The  good  Knight  speaks  well,  friend  Andrew,'  said 
his  master.  '  Do  me  but  the  pleasure  to  come  with  me, 
and  I  swear  by  all  the  orders  of  Knighthood  that  are 
in  the  world  to  pay  thee,  as  I  have  said,  to  the  last 
real? 

1  With  this,'  said  Don  Quixote,  1  I  will  rest  satisfied ; 
and  see  that  thou  fulfillest  it  as  thou  hast  sworn.  If 
not,  I  swear  again  to  thee  by  the  same  oath  to  return 
and  seek  thee  out  once  more  and  chastise  thee.  And 
I  will  find  thee  out,  though  thou  didst  hide  thvself  closer 
than  a  lizard.  And  if  thou  desirest  to  know  who  it  is 
that  commands  thee  thus,  know  that  I  am  the  valiant 


WHAT  BEFELL  ON  LEAVING  THE  INN  25 

Don  Quixote  of  the  Mancha,  the  righter  of  wrongs  and 
the  scourge  of  injustice/ 

Saying  this,  the  Knight  clapt  spurs  to  his  Rozinante, 
and  was  quickly  gone  from  him. 

The  Farmer  followed  him  with  his  eyes,  and  seeing 
that  he  was  beyond  the  wood  and  quite  out  of  sight, 
he  returned  to  Andrew  and  said  :  '  Come  to  me,  child, 
for  I  will  pay  thee  what  I  owe  thee,  as  that  righter  of 
wrongs  hath  commanded.' 

'  Upon  my  word,'  said  Andrew,  '  you  do  well  to  fulfil 
the  good  Knight's  commandments.  And  I  pray  that  he 
may  live  a  thousand  years,  for  he  is  so  brave  and  so 
just  a  judge  that,  if  you  pay  me  not,  he  will  come  back 
and  do  all  he  promised.' 

'I  also  do  believe  the  same,'  said  the  Farmer;  'but 
for  the  much  love  I  bear  thee,  I  will  increase  the  debt 
that  I  may  add  to  the  payment' 

And  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  he  tied  him  again  to  the 
oak,  where  he  gave  him  so  many  blows  as  to  leave  him 
for  dead. 

1  Call  now,  Master  Andrew,'  said  he,  '  for  thy  righter 
of  wrongs  ;  and  thou  shalt  see  that  he  cannot  undo  this, 
though  I  think  I  have  not  finished  the  doing  of  it,  for  I 
have  yet  a  desire  to  flay  thee  alive  as  thou  didst  fear.' 

But  he  untied  him  at  last,  and  gave  him  leave  to 
go  and  seek  out  his  Judge,  to  the  end  that  he  might 
execute  the  sentence  he  had  pronounced.  Andrew 
departed  somewhat  discontented,  swearing  to  search 
for  the  valiant  Don  Quixote  of  the  Mancha,  and  relate 
to  him  point  for  point  all  that  had  passed,  that  the 


26       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


Farmer  might  be  repaid  sevenfold.  Nevertheless  he 
wept  as  he  went  along,  and  his  master  remained  behind 
laughing,  and  thus  did  the  valiant  Don  Quixote  right 
this  wrong. 

As  for  the  Knight,  it  appeared  to  him  that  he  had 
made  a  very  happy  and  noble  beginning  to  his  feats  of 
arms.  And  as  he  rode  towards  his  village,  he  recited 
to  himself  in  a  low  voice  these  words :  '  Well  mayest 
thou  call  thyself  happy  above  all  other  women  of  the 
earth,  O !  above  all  beauties,  beautiful  Dulcinea  of 
Toboso  ;  since  it  has  fallen  to  thy  lot  to  hold  submissive 
to  thy  will  a  Knight  so  renowned  and  valorous  as  is  and 
ever  shall  be,  Don  Quixote  of  the  Mancha,  who,  as  all 
the  world  knows,  but  yesterday  received  the  order  of 
Knighthood,  and  to-day  hath  destroyed  the  greatest  out- 
rage and  wrong  that  injustice  and  cruelty  could  commit. 
To-day  hath  he  wrested  the  scourge  from  the  hand  of 
the  pitiless  foe  who  so  cruelly  beat  the  delicate  infant.' 

Soon  afterwards  he  came  to  a  spot  where  the  road 
branched  into  four,  and  there  came  into  his  fancy  the 
cross-ways  he  had  read  of,  where  the  Knights  Errant 
used  to  ponder  which  of  the  roads  they  should  take. 
And  that  he  might  imitate  them,  he  let  slip  the  reins  on 
Rozinante's  neck,  submitting  his  will  to  that  of  his 
steed,  who  followed  his  first  intention,  which  was  to 
return  home  to  his  own  stable.  And  having  travelled 
some  two  miles,  Don  Quixote  discovered  a  great  troop 
of  people,  who,  as  it  was  afterwards  known,  were  certain 
merchants  of  Toledo,  that  rode  towards  Murcia  to  buy 
silks.    They  were  six  in  number,  and  came  with  their 


WHAT  BEFELL  ON  LEAVING  THE  INN 


27: 


parasols  or  sun  umbrellas,  and  four  serving-men  a-horse- 
back,  and  three  lackeys. 

Scarce  had  Don  Quixote  perceived  them  when  he 
straight  imagined  them  to  be  a  new  adventure.  And 
so  that  he  might  imitate  as  far  as  possible  the  passages 
which  he  had  read  in  his  books,  he  settled  himself  with 
a  gallant  air  and  resolute  bearing  firmly  in  his  stirrups,^ 
grasped  his  lance,  brought  his  target  over  his  breast, 
and  stood,  waiting,  posted  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  for 
those  whom  he  took  to  be  Knio-hts  Errant  like  himself. 

o  ....... 

And  when  they  were  so  near  that  they  might  hear 
and  see  him,  he  lifted  up  his  voice  and  said  :  '  Let  alL 
the  world  stand  and  pass  no  further,  if  all  the  world 
will  not  confess  that  there  is  not  in  all  the  world  a  more 
beautiful  damsel  than  the  Empress  of  the  Mancha,  the 
peerless  Dulcinea  of  Toboso.' 

The  merchants  stopped  at  the  sound  of  these  words 
to  behold  the  marvellous  and  ridiculous  shape  of  him 
that  spake  them,  and  at  once  suspected  the  madness  of 
the  speaker. 

Curious  to  know  the  meaning  of  the  confession  he 
demanded  from  them,  one  of  the  merchants,  who  was 
a  bit  of  a  wag  and  very  sharp-witted,  said  to  Don 
Quixote:  'Sir  Knight,  we  know  not  who  that  good 
lady  may  be  you  speak  of.  Show  her  therefore  to  us, 
and  if  she  be  as  beautiful  as  you  report,  we  will  with 
right  good-will,  and  without  further  trouble,  confess  the 
truth  of  what  you  demand.' 

'If  I  did  show  her  to  you,'  replied  .  Don  Quixote, 
'what  merit  would  there  be  in  confessing -a  truth  which 


23        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

is  clear  to  all  beholders  ?  The  importance  of  my 
demand  is  that  without  seeing  her  you  must  believe 
it,  which  if  you  refuse  to  do  I  challenge  you  all  to 
battle,  ye  proud  preposterous  crew.  And  now  come 
on !  One  by  one  as  the  order  of  Knighthood  requires, 
or  all  at  once  as  is  the  custom  and  base  usaore  of  those 
of  your  breed.  Here  I  await  you,  confiding  in  the 
right  I  have  on  my  side/ 

'Sir  Knight/  replied  the  Merchant,  '  I  request  you  in 
the  name  of  all  the  Princes  here  present,  that  in  order 
that  we  may  not  burden  our  conscience  by  confessing 
a  thing  which  we  have  never  beheld  nor  heard,  you 
will  be  pleased  to  show  us  some  portrait  of  the  lady, 
although  it  be  no  bigger  than  a  grain  of  wheat.  For  I 
do  believe  that  we  are  already  so  much  on  your  side, 
that  though  her  portrait  showed  her  to  us  a-squint  of 
one  eye,  and  wearing  a  hump  on  her  back,  we  should 
say  all  that  you  wish  in  her  favour/ 

1  Infamous  rabble,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  mightily 
enraged  ;  *  she  is  neither  crook-eyed  nor  hump-backed, 
but  is  straighter  than  a  spindle  of  Guadamara.  Dearly 
shall  you  pay  for  the  foul  words  you  have  uttered  against 
so  immense  a  beauty  as  my  Lady/  So  saying,  he 
lowered  his  lance  against  him  who  had  spoken,  with 
such  wrath  and  fury,  that  if  Rozinante  had  not  tripped 
and  fallen  in  the  midst  of  his  career,  it  would  have  fared 
ill  with  the  rash  Merchant. 

But,  alas !  Rozinante  fell ;  his  master  went  rolling 
some  distance  across  the  field,  and  though  he  struggled 
to  arise  yet  was  he  never  able,  so  encumbered  was 


WHAT  BEFELL  ON  LEAVING  THE  INN  29 


he  by  his  lance,  target,  spurs,  helmet,  and  the  weight 
of  his  old-fashioned  armour.  And  while  he  strove 
to  rise  he  shouted  ;  '  Fly  not,  cowardly  brood !  Tarry  a 
little,  ye  base  caitiffs !  for  not  by  any  fault  of  mine,  but 
of  my  horse,  am  I  thus  discomfited  ! ' 

One  of  the  lackeys  with  the  company,  hearing  these 
saucy  speeches  of  the  poor  overthrown  Knight,  could 
not  forbear  returning  him  an  answer  on  his  ribs,  and 
coming  up  to  him  he  seized  his  lance,  and  having 
broken  it  into  pieces,  began  with  one  of  them  to  be- 
labour him,  so  that  in  spite  of  his  armour  he  pounded 
him  like  wheat  in  a  mill.  His  masters  called  out  to 
him  to  let  the  gentleman  be,  but  the  lackey  was  angry 
and  would  not  give  up  the  game.  And  running  for  the 
other  pieces  of  the  broken  lance,  he  shivered  them  all 
over  the  poor  fallen  Knight,  who  never  closed  his  mouth, 
but  cried  out  against  them  for  brigands  and  murderers, 
for  such  he  took  them  to  be. 

At  last  the  lackey  was  tired  out,  and  the  merchants 
followed  on  their  way  talking  about  the  poor  belaboured 
Knight,  who  when  he  saw  himself  alone,  again  made 
trial  to  arise  ;  but  if  he  could  not  do  so  when  sound 
and  well,  how  could  he  after  being  pounded  and  almost 
beaten  to  a  jelly  ?  And  yet  he  still  considered  himself 
fortunate,  for  he  persuaded  himself  that  this  disgrace 
was  one  of  those  things  that  must  of  occasion  happen 
to  a  Knight  Errant.  And  though  he  could  not  rise  on 
account  of  being  mauled  and  bruised  from  head  to  foot, 
he  put  it  all  down  to  the  carelessness  of  his  steed 
Rozinante. 


happened  to  his  Library,  and  how  he  sallied 
forth  a  second  time  to  seek  Adventures 

Finding  that  he  was  unable  to  stir,  the  Knight  pleased 
himself  whilst  lying  on  the  ground  by  remembering  and 
repeating  aloud  passages  from  his  favourite  books. 

He  was  reciting  the  ballad  of  the  Marquess  of  Mantua, 
in  which  a  noble  knight  has  an  adventure  similar  to 
his  own,  when  there  chanced  to  pass  by  a  labouring 
man,  a  neighbour  of  Don  Quixote's,  who  was  going  to 
take  a  load  of  wheat  to  the  mill. 

He,  seeing  a  man  stretched  on  the  ground,  came  over 

30 


HOW  DON  QUIXOTE  RETURNED  31 


to  Him  .  and  asked  who  he  was  and  what  mishap  had 
befallen  him.  ■ 

Don  Quixote  at  once  believed  that  the  labourer  was 
no  other  than  the  Marquess  of  Mantua  himself,  and 
went  on  with  his  ballad  which  gave  an  account  of  his 
disgrace. 

The  labourer  was  astonished  at  all  these  follies,  and 
taking  off  the  Knight's  visor,  which  was  all  broken  to 
pieces  with  the  beating,  he  wiped  his  face,  which,  was 
covered  with  dust  ;  and  when  he  had  wiped  it  he  recog- 
nised him  and  cried  :  '  Senor  Quixada  (for  so  was  he 
named  before  he  became  a  Knight  Errant),  who  has 
brought  your  Worship  to  this  plight  ?  ' 

But  the  Knight  only  went  on  with  his  ballad,  and 
made  no  answer. 

Seeing  this,  the  good  man  took  off  as  well  as  he  could 
his  breastplate  and  corselet  to  see  if  he  had  any  wound, 
but  he  found  no  blood  nor  sign  of  any.  He  tried  to 
raise  him  from  the  ground,  which  he  did  at  last  with 
much  ado.  Then  he  mounted  him  upon  his  ass, 
which  seemed  a  safer  carriage  than  the  Knight's 
steed.  Gathering  up  his  arms,  even  to  the  frag- 
ments of  the  lance,  he  fastened  them  upon  Rozinante, 
whose  bridle  he  took  hold  of,  as  well  as  of  the  ass's 
halter;  and  so  they  journeyed  towards  the  village,  Don 
Quixote  continuing  to  mutter  his  nonsensical  stories. 

In  this  manner  they  arrived  at  last  at  their  village 
about  sunset,  but  the  labourer  waited  until  it  grew 
somewhat  dusk,  so  that  folk  should  not  see  the  Knight 
so  simply  mounted. 


32       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

When  he  entered  the  village  and  went  to  Don 
Quixote's  house,  he  found  all  in  uproar  there.  For 
the  Curate  and  the  Barber — Don  Quixote's  great 
friends — were  there,  and  his  Housekeeper  was  crying 
to  them  at  the  top  of  her  voice  :  '  What  think  ye  has 
befallen  my  Master  ?  For  two  days  both  he  and  his 
horse,  together  with  the  target,  lance,  and  armour,  have 
been  missing.  Woe  is  me !  I  am  certain  those  horrid 
books  of  Knighthood  have  turned  his  brain,  for  I  have 
often  heard  him  say  that  he  would  become  a  Knight 
Errant  and  go  and  seek  adventures  throughout  the 
world.' 

And  Don  Quixote's  Niece,  who  was  there  also,  said 
to  Master  Nicholas  the  Barber :  'And  indeed  I  have 
known  my  dear  Uncle  continue  reading  these  unhappy 
books  of  "  disadventures "  two  days  and  two  nights 
together.  At  the  end  of  which,  throwing  down  the 
book,  he  would  lay  hand  on  his  sword  and  would  fall 
a-slashing  of  the  walls.  And  when  he  was  wearied  he 
would  say  that  he  had,  slain  four  Giants  as  great  as 
four  towers.  And  I  take  great  blame  to  myself  that  I 
did  not  tell  you  all  this  before,  that  you  might  have 
burned  those  wretched  books  which  have  caused  all  the 
mischief.' 

'  So  I  say,  too,'  said  the  Curate  ;  '.and  to-morrow  they 
shall  feed  the  flames,  so  that  they  may  do  no  further 
harm/ 

By  this  time  the  labourer  and  Don  Quixote  had 
come  to  the  house,  and  all  the  household  hearing  them 
arrive,  ran  to  embrace  him.    And  Don  Quixote — whr> 


HOW  DON  QUIXOTE  RETURNED  33 

had  not  yet  dismounted  from  the  ass,  for  he  was  not 
able — said  :  '  Stand  still  and  touch  me  not,  for  I  return 
very  sore  wounded  and  hurt  through  the  fault  of  my 
steed.  Carry  me  to  bed,  and  summon,  if  it  be  possible, 
the  wise  Urganda,  that  she  may  examine  and  cure  my 
wounds/ 

'  Come,  my  dear  Master,'  said  his  Housekeeper,  '  and 
welcome,  for,  without  sending  for  that  Urganda,  we  shall 
know  how  to  cure  thee  well  enough.  Accursed,  say  I 
once  again,  and  a  hundred  times  accursed,  may  those 
books  of  Knighthood  be  which  have  brought  you  to 
such  a  pass.' 

With  that  they  bore  him  up  to  his  bed,  and  searching 
for  his  wounds  could  not  find  any.  Then  he  said  he 
was  all  one  bruise,  through  having  a  grievous  fall  with 
his  horse  Rozinante,  in  a  fight  with  ten  Giants,  the 
most  enormous  and  the  boldest  that  could  be  found 
on  earth. 

'So  ho ! '  said  the  Curate,  '  there  are  Giants  about, 
are  there  ?  By  mine  honesty  I  will  burn  them  all  before 
to-morrow  night.' 

The  next  day,  while  the  Knight  was  asleep,  the 
Curate  asked  the  Niece  for  the  keys  of  the  library, 
which  she  gave  him  with  a  very  good  will.  Then  they 
all  went  in,  the  Housekeeper  with  them,  and  found 
more  than  a  hundred  very  large  volumes  well  bound, 
besides  other  smaller  ones. 

The  Curate  asked  the  Barber  to  hand  him  down  the 
books  from  their  shelves  one  by  one,  that  he  might  see 
whether  any  deserved  to  escape  the  fire. 

c 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


4  No,  no!'  cried  the  Niece,  'you  ought  not  to  pardon 
any  of  them,  seeing  they  have  all  been  offenders.  Better 
fling  them  all  out  of  the  window  into  the  yard  and  make 
a  heap  of  them,  and  then  make  a  bonfire  of  them  where 
the  smoke  will  offend  nobody.'" 

With  that  the  Housekeeper  caught  hold  of  some  of 
the -largest  and  flutter  them  out,  of  the  window.  But  the 
G  urate  took  down  several  from  the  shelves  and  began 
to  examine  them  carefully,  whilst  the:  women  cried  out 
for  their  destruction. 

Whilst  they  were  thus  busied,  Don  Quixote  began  to 
cry  aloud,  saying :  '  This  way,  this  way,  valorous 
Knights  !  Show  the  force  of  your  valiant  arms  lest  we 
k)se  the  tournament.' 

Called  away  by  this  noise  and  clamour  they  left  the 
books  and  ran  to  Don  Quixote,  who  had  risen  from  his 
bed  and  Was  repeating  his  outcries  and  ravings,  cutting 
about  with  his  sword  all  over  the  room  with  slashes 
and  back  strokes,  as  wide  awake  as  if  he  had  never  been 
asleep.  Wherefore,  taking  him  up  in  their  arms,  they 
returned  him  by  main  force  into  his  bed. 

With  some  difficulty  they  persuaded  him  to  rest  where  » 
he  waSj  and  after  he  . had  eaten  his  breakfast  he  fell  asleep 
once  a^ain.    ,  .  / 

That  same  night  the  Housekeeper  set  fire  to  and 
burned  all  the  books  in  the  yard,  and  some  went  to 
the  flames  that  had  no  harm  in  them;  and  thus  was 
fulfilled  the  old  proverb,  'The  Saint  sometimes  pays 
for  the  Sinner/   ;       •     r  . 

Now  one  of  the  remedies  which  the  Curate  and  the 


HOW  DON  QUIXOTE  RETURNED  35 


Barber  suggested  for  their  friend's  malady  was  to  wall 
up  and  close  his  library,  so  that  when  he  rose  he 
should  not  find  the  books,  and  they  might  tell  him  the 
Enchanters  had  carried  them  off,  room  and  all. 

This  was  done,  and  when  two  days  afterwards  Don 
Quixote  rose  from  his  bed,  the  first  thing  he  did  was 
to  go  and  visit  his  books.  Not  finding  the  library 
where  he  had  left  it,  he  went  from  one  corner  of  the 
house  to  the  other,  looking  for  it.  Sometimes  he  came 
to  the  place  where  the  door  had  been,  and  felt  it  with 
his  hands,  then  would  turn  his  eyes  up  and  down,  here 
and  there,  to  seek  it,  without  speaking  a  word. 

But  at  last  he  asked  the  Housekeeper  where  his 
1ibrary  was.  She  being  well  schooled  what  she  should 
answer,  replied  :  *  What  library  ?  There  is  neither 
library  nor  books  in  this  house  now,  for  an  Enchanter 
has  carried  them  all  away.' 

'Yes,  dear  Uncle,'  said  his  Niece,  4  while  you  were 
away,  an  Enchanter  came  upon  a  cloud,  and,  alighting 
from  a  serpent  on  which  he  was  riding,  entered  the 
library,  and  what  he  did  therein  I  know  not.  But 
within  a  while  after,  he  fled  out  at  the  roof  of  the 
house,  and  left  all  the  place  full  of  smoke,  and  when 
we  went  to  see  what  he  had  done  we  found  neither 
room  nor  books.' 

4  This  must  be  the  work  of  the  learned  Enchanter 
Freston,'  replied  Don  Quixote  seriously  ;  '  a  great  enemy 
of  mine  who  has  a  grudge  against  me,  for  he  knows 
through  his  arts  and  his  learning  that  I  am  in  course  of 
time  to  fight  and  vanquish  in  single  combat  a  Knight 


36        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

whom  he  favours.  But  I  tell  him  it  is  useless  to  oppose 
what  is  decreed.' 

4  Who  doubts  that,  dear  Uncle?'  said  his  Niece. 
'  But  why  mix  yourself  up  in  these  quarrels  ?  Better 
stay  at  home  peacefully,  for  remember  the  proverb  says, 
"  Many  who  go  for  wool  come  back  shorn."  ' 

'  O  Niece  of  mine,'  said  Don  Quixote,  '  how  little 
dost  thou  understand  the  matter !  Before  I  am  shorn  I 
will  pluck  the  beards  of  all  who  think  to  touch  but  a 
hair  of  me.' 

To  these  words  the  women  made  no  reply  because 
they  saw  his  anger  increase. 

For  fifteen  days  after  this  he  remained  quietly  at 
home,  without  showing  any  signs  of  repeating  his  follies, 
and  during  this  time  he  had  many  arguments  with  his 
friends  the  Curate  and  the  Barber  about  his  favourite 
Knights  Errant.  At  the  same  time  he  was  persuading 
a  certain  labourer,  his  neighbour,  an  honest  man,  but 
one  of  very  shallow  wit,  to  go  away  with  him  and  serve 
him  as  Squire.  In  the  end  he  gave  him  so  many  fair 
words  and  promises  that  the  poor  fellow  determined  to 
go  with  him.  Don  Quixote,  among  other  things,  told 
him  that  he  ought  to  be  very  pleased  to  depart  with  him, 
for  at  some  time  or  other  an  adventure  might  befall 
which  should  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  win  him  an 
Island  and  leave  him  Governor  thereof.  On  the  faith 
of  these  and  other  like  promises,  Sancho  Panza  (for  so 
he  was  called)  forsook  his  wife  and  children  and  took 
service  as  Squire  to  his  neighbour. 

Don  Quixote  then  set  about  to  provide  himself  with 


HOW  DON  QUIXOTE  RETURNED  37 


money.  This  he  did  by  selling  one  thing,  pawning 
another,  and  making  bad  bargains  all  round.  At  last 
he  got  a  pretty  sum,  and  having  patched  up  his  broken 
helmet  as  best  he  could,  he  told  Sancho  Panza  the  day 
and  hour  on  which  he  meant  to  start.  He  also  charged 
him  to  provide  himself  with  a  wallet,  which  Sancho 
promised  to  do,  and  said  that  he  also  meant  to  take  a 
very  good  Ass  named  Dapple  along  with  him,  which  he 
had  of  his  own,  because  he  was  not  used  to  travel  much 
afoot. 

In  the  matter  of  the  Ass,  Don  Quixote  hesitated  a 
little,  calling  to  mind  whether  ever  he  had  read  that  any 
Knight  Errant  was  ever  attended  by  a  Squire  mounted 
on  ass-back,  but  no  such  case  occurred  to  his  memory. 
Nevertheless,  he  decided  that  the  Ass  should  be  taken, 
with  the  intention  of  providing  his  Squire  with  a  more 
dignified  mount,  when  he  had  a  chance,  by  unhorsing 
the  first  discourteous  Knight  he  met  with. 

All  this  being  arranged,  Sancho  Panza,  without  bidding 
his  wife  and  children  farewell,  and  Don  Quixote,  with- 
out saying  good-bye  to  his  Housekeeper  and  Niece, 
sallied  forth  from  the  village  one  night,  unknown  to  any 
person  living.  They  travelled  so  far  that  night  that  at 
daybreak  they  were  safe  against  discovery,  even  if  they 
were  pursued.  And  Sancho  Panza  rode  along  on  his 
beast  like  a  patriarch  with  his  wallet  and  bottle,  full  of 
a  huge  desire  to  see  himself  Governor  of  the  Island 
which  his  Master  had  promised  him. 


3'8.       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAPTER  VI 

Of  the  dreadful  and  never-to-be-imagined  Adven- 
ture of  the  Windmills,  and  of  the  fearful  Battle 
which  the  gallant  Biscayan  fought  with 
Don  Quixote 

Whilst  they  were  journeying  along,  Sancho  Panza  said 
to  his  Master :  '  I  pray  you  have  good  care,  Sir  Knight, 
that  you  forget  not  that  government  of  the  Island  which 
you  have  promised  me,  for  I  shall  be  able  to  govern  it 
be  it  never  so  great.' 

And  Don  Quixote  replied  :  '  Thou  must  understand, 
friend  Sancho,  that  it  was  a  custom  very  much  used  by 
ancient  Knights  Errant,  to  make  their  Squires  Governors 
of  the  Islands  and  Kingdoms  they  conquered,  and  I  am 
resolved  that  so  good  a  custom  shall  be  kept  up  by  me, 
And  if  thou  livest  and  I  live,  it  may  well  be  that  I 
might  conquer  a  Kingdom  within  six  days,  and  crown 
thee  Kincr  of  it. 

'  By  the  same  token,'  said  Sancho  Panza,  '  if  I  were  a 
King,  then  should  Joan  my  wife  become  a  Queen  and 
my  children  Princes?' 

'  Who  doubts  of  that  ? '  said  Don  Quixote. 

4  That  do  I,'  replied  Sancho  Panza,  'for  I  am  fully 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  WINDMILLS  39 

persuaded  that  though  it  rained  Kingdoms  down  ivpon 
the  earth,  none  of  them  would  sit  well  on  my  wife  Joan. 
She  is  not  worth  a  farthing  for  a  Queen.  She  might 
scrape  through  as  a  Countess,  but  I  have  my  doubts 
of  that.' 

As  they  were  talking,  they  caught  sight  of  some 
thirty  or  forty  windmills  on  a  plain.  As  soon  as  Don 
Quixote  saw  them  he  said  to  his  Squire  :  1  Fortune  is 
guiding  our  affairs  better  than  we  could  desire.  For 
behold,  friend  Sancho,  how  there  appear  thirty  or  forty 
monstrous  Giants  with  whom  I  mean  to  do  battle,  and 
take  all  their  lives.  With  their  spoils  we  will  begin  to 
be  rich,  for  this  is  fair  war,  and  it  is  doing  great  service 
to  clear  away  these  evil  fellows  from  off  the  face  of  the 
earth.' 

'What  Giants  ?  '  said  Sancho  amazed. 

'  Those  thou  seest  there,'  replied  his  Master,  '  with 
the  long  arms.' 

'  Take  care,  Sir/  cried  Sancho,  '  for  those  we  see 
yonder  are  not  Giants  but  windmills,  and  those  things 
which  seem  to  be  arms  are  their  sails,  which  being 
whirled  round  by  the  wind  make  the  mill  go.' 

4  It  is  clear,'  answered  Don  Quixote,  'that  thou  art 
not  yet  experienced  in  the  matter  of  adventures.  They 
are  Giants,  and  if  thou  art  afraid,  get  thee  away  home, 
whilst  I  enter  into  cruel  and  unequal  battle  with  them.' 

So  saying,  he  clapped  spurs  to  Rozinante,  without 
heeding  the  cries  by  which  Sancho  Panza  warned  him 
that  he  was  going  to  encounter  not  Giants  but  windmills. 
For  he  would  neither  listen  to  Sancho's  outcries,  nor 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


mark  what  he  said,  but  shouted  to  the  windmills  in 
a  loud  voice  :  '  Fly  not,  cowards  and  vile  creatures,  for 
it  is  only  one  Knight  that  assaults  you!' 

A  slight  breeze  having  sprung  up  at  this  moment,  the 
great  sail-arms  began  to  move,  on  seeing  which  Don 
Quixote  shouted  out  again  :  *  Although  you  should  wield 
more  arms  than  had  the  Giant  Briareus,  I  shall  make  you 
pay  for  your  insolence  ! ' 

Saying  this,  and  commending  himself  most  devoutly 
to  his  Lady  Dulcinea,  whom  he  desired  to  aid  him  in 
this  peril,  covering  himself  with  his  buckler,  and  setting 
his  lance  in  rest,  he  charged  at  Rozinante's  best  gallop, 
and  attacked  the  first  mill  before  him.    Thrusting  his 

o 

lance  through  the  sail,  the  wind  turned  it  with  such 
violence  that  it  broke  his  weapon  into  shivers,  carrying 
him  and  his  horse  after  it,  and  having  whirled  them 
round,  finally  tumbled  the  Knight  a  good  way  off,  and 
rolled  him  over  the  plain  sorely  damaged. 

Sancho  Panza  hastened  to  help  him  as  fast  as  his 
Ass  could  go,  and  when  he  came  up  he  found  the 
Knight  unable  to  stir,  such  a  shock  had  Rozinante 
given  him  in  the  fall. 

4  Bless  me,'  said  Sancho,  'did  I  not  tell  you  that  you 
chould  look  well  what  you  did,  for  they  were  none  other 
than  windmills,  nor  could  any  think  otherwise  unless  he 
had  windmills  in  his  brains  ? ' 

'Peace,  friend  Sancho,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'for  the 
things  of  war  are  constantly  changing,  and  I  think  this 
must  be  the  work  of  the  same  sage  Freston  who  robbed 
me  of  my  library  and  books,  and  he  hath  changed  these 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  WINDMILLS  41 


Giants  into  windmills  to  take  from  me  the  glory  of  the 
victory.  But  in  the  end  his  evil  arts  shall  avail  but 
little  against  the  goodness  of  my  sword.' 

'  May  it  prove  so,'  said  Sancho,  as  he  helped  his 
Master  to  rise  and  remount  Rozinante,  who,  poor  steed, 
was  himself  much  bruised  by  the  fall. 

The  next  day  they  journeyed  along  towards  the  Pass 
of  Lapice,  a  romantic  spot,  at  which  they  arrived  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

*  Here,'  said  Don  Quixote  to  his  Squire,  'we  may 
hope  to  dip  our  hands  up  to  the  elbows  in  what  are 
called  adventures.  But  take  note  of  this,  that  although 
thou  seest  me  in  the  greatest  dangers  of  the  world, 
thou  art  not  to  set  hand  to  thy  sword  in  my  defence, 
unless  those  who  assault  me  be  base  or  vulgar  people. 
If  they  be  Knights  thou  mayest  not  help  me.' 

'I  do  assure  you,  Sir,'  said  Sancho,  'that  herein 
you  shall  be  most  punctually  obeyed,  because  I  am 
by  nature  a  quiet  and  peaceful  man,  and  have  a  strong 
dislike  to  thrusting  myself  into  quarrels.' 

Whilst  they  spoke  thus,  two  Friars  of  the  order  of 
St.  Benedict,  mounted  on  large  mules — big  enough  to 
be  dromedaries — -appeared  coming  along  the  road. 
They  wore  travelling  masks  to  keep  the  dust  out  of 
their  eyes  and  carried  large  sun  umbrellas.  After  them 
came  a  coach  with  four  or  five  a-horseback  travelling 
with  it,  and  two  lackeys  ran  hard  by  it.  In  the  coach 
was  a  Biscayan  Lady  who  was  going  to  Seville.  The 
Friars  were  not  of  her  company,  though  all  were  going 
the  same  way. 


42        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

Scarcely  had  Don  Quixote  espied  them  than  he  ex- 
claimed to  his  Squire:  'Either  I  much  mistake,  or  this 
should  be  the  most  famous  adventure  that  hath  ever 
been  seen ;  for  those  dark  forms  that  loom  yonder 
are  doubtless  Enchanters  who  are  carrying  off  in  that 
coach  some  Princess  they  have  stolen.  Therefore 
I  must  with  all  my  power  undo  this  wrong.' 

'  This  will  be  worse  than  the  adventure  of  the  wind- 
mills,' said  Sancho.  '  Do  you  not  see  that  they  are 
Benedictine  Friars,  and  the  coach  will  belong  to  some 
people  travelling  ? 1 

4  I  have  told  thee  already,  Sancho,'  answered  Don 
Quixote,  'that  thou  art  very  ignorant  in  the  matter  of 
adventures.    What  I  say  is  true,  as  thou  shalt  see.' 

So  saying  he  spurred  on  his  horse,  and  posted  him- 
self in  the  middle  of  the  road  along  which  the  Friars 
were  coming,  and  when  they  were  near  enough  to  hear 
him  he  exclaimed  in  a  loud  voice  :  '  Monstrous  and 
horrible  crew !  Surrender  this  instant  those  exalted 
Princesses,  whom  you  are  carrying  away  in  that  coach, 
or  prepare  to  receive  instant  death  as  a  just  punishment 
of  your  wicked  deeds.' 

The  Friars  drew  rein,  and  stood  amazed  at  the  figure 
and  words  of  Don  Quixcte,  to  whom  they  replied  :  '  Sir 
Knight,  we  are  neither  monstrous  nor  wicked,  but  two 
religious  men,  Benedictines,  travelling  about  our  busi- 
ness, and  we  know  nothing  about  this  coach  or  about 
any  Princesses.' 

'No  soft  words  for  me,'  cried  Don  Quixote,  'for  I  ' 
know  you  well,  treacherous  knaves.' 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  WINDMILLS  43 


And  without  waiting  for  their  reply  he  set  spurs  to 
Rozinante  ;  and  laying  his  lance  on  his  thigh,  charged 
at  the  first  Friar  with  such  fury  and  rage,  that  if  he  had 
not  leaped  from  his  mule  he  would  have  been  slain,  or  at 
least  badly  wounded. 

The  second  Friar,  seeing  the  way  his  companion  was 
treated,  made  no  words  but  fled  across  the  country 
swifter  than  the  wind  itself. 

Sancho  Panza,  on  seeing  the  Friar  overthrown,  dis- 
mounted very  speedily  off  his  Ass  and  ran  over  to  him, 
and  would  have  stripped  him  of  his  clothes.  But  two 
of  the  Friars'  servants  came  up  and  asked  him  why 
he  was  thus  despoiling  their  master.  Sancho  replied 
that  it  was  his  due  by  the  law  of  arms,  as  lawful  spoils 
gained  in  battle  by  his  Lord  and  Master,  Don  Quixote. 

The  lackeys,  who  knew  nothing  of  battles  or  spoils, 
seeing  that  Don  Quixote  was  now  out  of  the  way, 
speaking  with  those  that  were  in  the  coach,  set  both 
at  once  upon  Sancho  and  threw  him  down,  plucked 
every  hair  out  of  his  beard  and  kicked  and  mauled 
him  without  mercy,  leaving  him  at  last  stretched  on 
the  ground  senseless  and  breathless. 

As  for  the  Friar,  he  mounted  again,  trembling  and 
terror-stricken,  all  the  colour  having  fled  from  his  face, 
and  spurring  his  mule,  he  joined  his  companion,  who 
was  waiting  for  him  hard  by. 

While  this  was  happening,  Don  Quixote  was  talking 
to  the  Lady  in  the  coach,  to  whom  he  said  :  '  Dear  Lady, 
you  may  now  dispose  of  yourself  as  you  best  please. 
For  the  pride  of  your  robbers  is  laid  in  the  dust  by  this 


44        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

my  invincible  arm.  And  that  you  may  not  pine  to  learn 
the  name  of  your  deliverer,  know  that  I  am  called  Don 
Quixote  of  the  Mancha,  Knight  Errant,  adventurer,  and 
captive  of  the  peerless  and  beauteous  Lady  Dulcinea 
of  Toboso.  And  in  reward  of  the  benefits  you  have 
received  at  my  hands,  I  demand  nothing*  else  but  that 
you  return  to  Toboso,  there  to  present  yourself  in  my 
name  before  my  Lady,  and  tell  her  what  I  have  done  to 
obtain  your  liberty/ 

All  this  was  listened  to  by  a  Biscayan  Squire  who 
accompanied  the  coach.  He  hearing  that  the  coach 
was  not  to  pass  on  but  was  to  return  to  Toboso,  went 
up  to  Don  Quixote,  and,  laying  hold  of  his  lance,  said  to 
him  :  '  Get  away  with  thee,  Sir  Knight,  for  if  thou 
leave  not  the  coach  I  will  kill  thee  as  sure  as  I  am  a 
Biscayan.' 

'If,'  replied  Don  Quixote  haughtily,  'thou  wert  a 
gentleman,  as  thou  art  not,  I  would  ere  this  have 
punished  thy  folly  and  insolence,  caitiff  creature.' 

*  I  no  gentleman  ? '  cried  the  enraged  Biscayan. 
'  Throw  down  thy  lance  and  draw  thy  sword,  and  thou 
shalt  soon  see  that  thou  liest.' 

'  That  shall  be  seen  presently/  replied  Don  Quixote  ; 
and  flinging  his  lance  to  the  ground  he  drew  his  sword, 
grasped  his  buckler  tight,  and  rushed  at  the  Biscayan. 

The  Biscayan,  seeing  him  come  on  in  this  manner, 
had  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  draw  his  sword.  Luckily 
for  him  he  was  near  the  coach,  whence  he  snatched  a 
cushion  to  serve  him  as  a  shield,  and  then  they  fell  on 
one  another  as  if  they  had  been  mortal  enemies. 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  WINDMILLS  45 


Those  that  were  present  tried  to  stop  them,  but  the 
Biscayan  shouted  out  that  if  he  were  hindered  from 
ending  the  battle  he  would  put  his  Lady  and  all  wLo 
touched  him  to  the  sword. 

The  Lady,  amazed  and  terrified,  made  the  coachman 
draw  aside  a  little,  and  sat  watching  the  deadly  combat 
from  afar. 

The  Biscayan,  to  begin  with,  dealt  Don  Quixote  a 
mighty  blow  over  the  target,  which,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  his  armour,  would  have  cleft  him  to  the  waist. 
Don  Quixote,  feeling  the  weight  of  this  tremendous 
blow  which  had  destroyed  his  visor  and  carried  away 
part  of  his  ear,  cried  out  aloud  :  '  O  Dulcinea,  Lady 
of  my  soul,  flower  of  all  beauty,  help  thy  Knight,  who 
finds  himself  in  this  great  danger!'  To  say  this,  to 
raise  his  sword,  to  cover  himself  with  his  buckler,  and 
to  rush  upon  the  Biscayan  was  the  work  of  a  moment. 
With  his  head  full  of  rage  he  now  raised  himself  in 
his  stirrups,  and,  gripping  his  sword  more  firmly  in  his 
two  hands,  struck  at  the  Biscayan  with  such  violence 
that  he  caught  him  a  terrible  blow  on  the  cushion, 
knocking  this  shield  against  his  head  with  tremendous 
violence.  It  was  as  though  a  mountain  had  fallen  on 
the  Biscayan  and  crushed  him,  and  the  blood  spouted 
from  his  nose  and  mouth  and  ears.  He  would  have 
fallen  straightway  from  his  mule  if  he  had  not  clasped 
her  round  the  neck  ;  but  he  lost  his  stirrups,  then  let  go 
his  arms,  and  the  mule,  frightened  at  the  blow,  began 
to  gallop  across  the  fields,  so  that  after  two  or  three 
plunges  it  threw  him  to  the  ground. 


46        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


Don  Quixote  leaped  off  his  horse,  ran  towards  him, 
and  setting  the  point  of  his  sword  between  his  eyes, 
bade  him  yield,  or  he  would  cut  off  his  head. 

The  Lady  of  the  coach  now  came  forward  in  great 
grief  and  begged  the  favour  of  her  Squire's  life. 

Don  Quixote  replied  with  great  stateliness  :  '  Truly, 
fair  Lady,  I  will  grant  thy  request,  but  it  must  be  on 
one  condition,  that  this  Squire  shall  go  to  Toboso  and 
present  himself  in  my  name  to  the  peerless  Lady 
Dulcinea,  that  she  may  deal  with  him  as  she  thinks 
well/ 

The  Lady,  who  was  in  great  distress,  without  con- 
sidering what  Don  Quixote  required,  or  asking  wTho 
Dulcinea  might  be,  promised  that  he  should  certainly 
perform  this  command. 

'Then,'  said  Don  Quixote,  '  on  the  faith  of  that 
pledge  I  will  do  him  no  more  harm.' 

Seeing  the  contest  was  now  over,  and  his  Master 
about  to  remount  Rozinante,  Sancho  ran  to  hold  his 
stirrups,  and  before  he  mounted,  taking  him  by  his  hand 
he  kissed  it  and  said  :  '  I  desire  that  it  will  please  you, 
good  my  Lord  Don  Quixote,  to  bestow  on  me  the 
government  of  that  Island  which  in  this  terrible  battle 
you  have  won.' 

To  which  Don  Quixote  replied :  '  Brother  Sancho, 
these  are  not  the  adventures  of  Islands,  but  of  cross 
roads,  wherein  nothing  is  gained  but  a  broken  pate 
or  the  loss  of  an  ear.  Have  patience  awhile,  for  the 
adventures  will  come  whereby  I  can  make  thee  not 
only  a  Governor,  but  something  higher.' 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  WINDMILLS  47 


Sancho  thanked  him  heartily,  and  kissed  his  hand 
again  and  the  hem  of  his  mailed  shirt.  Then  he 
helped  him  to  get  on  Rozinante,  and  leaped  upon  his 
Ass  to  follow  him. 

And  Don  Quixote,  without  another  word  to  the 
people  of  the  coach,  rode  away  at  a  swift  pace  and 
turned  into  a  wood  that  was  hard  by,  leaving  Sancho 
to  follow  him  as  fast  as  his  beast  could  trot 


• 


48       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAPTER  VII 

Of  what  passed  between  Don  Quixote  and  the 
Goatherds,  and  of  the  unfortunate  Adventure 
with  the  Yanguesian  Carriers 

As  they  rode  along,  Don  Quixote  turned  to  his  Squire 
and  said  to  him :  '  Tell  me  now  in  very  good  earnest, 
didst  thou  ever  see  a  more  valorous  Knight  than  I  am 
throughout  the  face  of  the  earth  ?  Didst  thou  ever  read 
in  histories  of  any  other  that  hath  or  ever  had  more 
courage  in  fighting,  more  dexterity  in  wounding,  or  more 
skill  in  overthrowing  ? ' 

4  The  truth  is,'  replied  Sancho,  1  that  I  have  never 
read  any  history  whatever,  for  I  can  neither  read  nor 
write.  But  what  I  dare  wager  is,  that  I  never  in  my  life 
served  a  bolder  Master  than  you  are,  and  I  only  trust 
that  all  this  boldness  does  not  land  us  within  the  four 
walls  of  the  gaol.' 

*  Peace,  friend  Sancho,'  said  Don  Quixote;  'when 
didst  thou  read  of  a  Knight  Errant  that  was  brought 
before  the  Judge  though  he  killed  ever  so  many 
people  ? ' 

'  I  have  read  nothing,  as  you  know,  good  Master ;  but 
a  truce  to  all  this,  let  me  attend  to  your  wound,  for  you 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  GOATHERDS  4c 


are  losing  a  good  deal  of  blood  in  that  ear,  and  I  have 
got  some  lint  and  a  little  white  ointment  in  my  wallet.' 

1  That/  said  Don  Quixote,  'would  have  been  unneces- 
sary if  I  had  remembered  to  make  a  bottleful  of  the 
Balsam  of  Fierabras,  for  with  only  one  drop  of  it  both 
time  and  medicines  are  saved.' 

4  What  Balsam  is  that,  then  ? '  asked  Sancho  Panza. 

'It  is  a  Balsam,  the  receipt  of  which  I  have  in 
my  memory,  and  whoever  possesses  it  need  not  fear 
death  nor  think  to  perish  by  any  wound.  Therefore 
after  I  have  made  it  and  given  it  unto  thee,  thou  hast 
nothing  else  to  do  but  when  thou  shalt  see  that  in  any 
battle  I  be  cloven  in  twain,  than  deftly  to  take  up  the 
portion  of  the  body  which  is  fallen  to  the  ground  and 
put  it  up  again  on  the  half  which  remains  in  the  saddle, 
taking  great  care  to  fix  it  exactly  in  the  right  place. 
Then  thou  shalt  give  me  two  draughts  of  the  Balsam 
I  have  mentioned,  and  I  shall  become  as  sound  as  an 
apple.' 

1 If  that  be  true,'  said  Sancho,  '  I  renounce  from  now 
the  government  of  the  promised  Island,  and  will 
demand  nothing  else  in  payment  of  my  services  but 
only  the  receipt  of  this  precious  liquor.  But  tell  me,  is 
it  costly  in  making  ?  ' 

?  With  less  than  three  reals'  said  Don  Quixote,  'a 
man  may  make  three  gallons  of  it.  But  I  mean  to  teach 
thee  greater  secrets  than  this,  and  do  thee  greater 
favours  also.  And  now  let  me  dress  my  wound,  for  this 
ear  pains  me  more  than  I  would  wish.' 

Sancho  took  out  of  his  wallet  his  lint  and  ointment  to 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


cure  his  Master.  But  before  he  could  use  them  Don 
Quixote  saw  that  the  visor  of  his  helmet  was  broken, 
and  he  had  like  to  have  lost  his  senses.  Setting 
his  hand  to  his  sword,  he  cried  :  '  I  swear  an  oath  to 
lead  the  life  which  was  led  by  the  great  Marquis  of 
Mantua  when  he  swore  to  revenge  the  death  of  his 
nephew  Baldwin,  which  was  not  to  eat  off  a  tablecloth, 
nor  to  comb  his  hair,  nor  to  change  his  clothes,  nor  to 
quit  his  armour,  and  other  things  which,  though  I  cannot 
now  remember,  I  take  as  said,  until  I  have  had  complete 
revenge  on  him  that  hath  done  this  outrage.' 

'  Look,  your  Worship,  Sir  Don  Quixote,'  said  Sancho, 
when  he  heard  these  strange  words,  'you  must  note  that 
if  the  Biscayan  has  done  what  you  told  him,  and  pre- 
sented himself  before  my  Lady  Dulcinea  of  Toboso, 
then  he  has  fully  satisfied  his  debt,  and  deserves  no 
other  penalty  unless  he  commits  a  new  fault.' 

'Thou  hast  spoken  well  and  hit  the  mark  truly,' 
answered  Don  Quixote ;  '  and,  therefore,  in  respect 
of  that,  I  set  the  oath  aside.  But  I  make  it  and  confirm 
it  again,  that  I  will  lead  the  life  I  have  said,  until  I  take 
by  force  another  helmet  as  good  as  this  from  some  other 
Knight.' 

'  Such  oaths  are  but  mischief,'  said  Sancho  dis- 
contentedly, '  for  tell  me  now,  if  by  chance  we  do  not 
come  across  a  man  armed  with  a  helmet,  what  are  we  to 
do  ?  Do  but  consider  that  armed  men  travel  not  these 
roads,  but  only  carriers  and  waggoners,  who  not  only 
wear  no  helmets,  but  never  heard  them  named  all  the 
days  of  their  life/ 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  GOATHERDS  51 

'  Thou  art  mistaken  in  this,  said  Don  Quixote,  '  for 
we  shall  not  have  been  here  two  hours  before  we  shall 
see  more  Knights  than  went  up  against  Albraca  to  win 
Angelica  the  Fair.' 

'  So  be  it,'  said  Sancho,  'and  may  all  turn  out  well  for 
us,  that  the  time  may  come  for  the  winning  of  that  Island 
which  is  costing  me  so  dear.' 

'  Have  no  fear  for  thine  Island,  Sancho  Panza,'  said 
Don  Quixote ;  '  and  now  look  if  thou  hast  aught  to  eat 
in  thy  wallet,  for  soon  we  should  go  in  search  of  some 
Castle  where  we  may  lodge  the  night  and  make  the 
Balsam  of  which  I  have  spoken,  for  in  truth  this  ear  of 
mine  pains  me  greatly.' 

'  I  have  got  here  an  onion  and  a  bit  of  cheese  and  a 
few  crusts  of  bread,  but  such  coarse  food  is  not  fit  for  so 
valiant  a  Knight  as  your  Worship.' 

'  How  little  dost  thou  understand  the  matter,'  replied 
Don  Quixote,  'for  it  is  an  honour  to  Knights  Errant  not 
to  eat  more  than  once  a  month,  and  if  by  chance  they 
should  eat,  to  eat  only  of  that  which  is  next  at  hand  ! 
And  all  this  thou  mightest  have  known  hadst  thou  read 
as  many  books  as  I  have  done.  For  though  I  studied 
many,  yet  did  I  never  find  that  Knights  Errant  did  ever 
eat  but  by  mere  chance,  or  at  some  costly  banquets 
that  were  made  for  them.  And  the  remainder  of  their 
days  they  lived  on  herbs  and  roots.  Therefore,  friend 
Sancho,  let  not  that  trouble  thee  which  is  my  pleasure, 
for  to  a  Knight  Errant  that  which  comes  is  good.' 

4  Pardon  me,  Sir/  said  Sancho,  'for  since  I  can  neither 
read  nor  write,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  I  have  not 


0.  OF  ILL  UB. 

1 


52       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

fallen  in  rightly  with  the  laws  of  Knighthood.  But  from 
henceforth  my  wallet  shall  be  furnished  with  all  sorts  of 
dried  fruits  for  your  Worship,  because  you  are  a  Knight, 
and  for  myself,  seeing  I  am  none,  I  will  provide  fowls 
and  other  things,  which  are  better  eating.' 

So  saying  he  pulled  out  what  he  had,  and  the  two  fell 
to  dinner  in  good  peace  and  company. 

But  being  desirous  to  look  out  for  a  lodging  for  that 
night,  they  cut  short  their  meagre  and  sorry  meal, 
mounted  at  once  a-horseback,  and  made  haste  to  find 
out  some  dwellings  before  night  did  fall. 

But  the  sun  and  their  hopes  did  fail  them  at  the  same 
time,  they  being  then  near  the  cabins  of  some  Goat- 
herds. Therefore  they  determined  to  pass  the  night 
there.  And  though  Sancho's  grief  was  great  to  lie  out 
of  a  village,  yet  Don  Quixote  was  more  joyful  than 
ever,  for  he  thought  that  as  often  as  he  slept  under  the 
open  heaven,  so  often  did  he  perform  an  act  worthy 
of  a  true  Knight  Errant. 

They  were  welcomed  by  the  Goatherds  very  cor- 
dially, and  Sancho,  having  put  up  Rozinante  and  his  Ass 
the  best  way  he  could,  made  his  way  towards  the  smell 
given  out  by  certain  pieces  of  goat's  flesh  which  were 
boiling  in  a  pot  on  the  fire.  And  though  he  longed  that 
very  instant  to  see  if  they  were  ready,  he  did  not  do  so, 
for  he  saw  the  Goatherds  were  themselves  taking  them 
off  the  fire  and  spreading  some  sheep-skins  on  the 
ground,  and  were  laying  their  rustic  table  as  quickly  as 
might  be.  Then  with  many  expressions  of  good  will 
they  invited  the  two  to  share  in  what  they  had.  Those 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  GOATHERDS  53 


who  belonged  to  the  fold,  being  six  in  number,  sat 
round  on  the  skins,  having  first  with  rough  compliments 
asked  Don  Quixote  to  seat  himself  upon  a  trough  which 
they  placed  for  him  turned  upside  down. 

Don  Quixote  sat  down,  but  Sancho  remained  on  foot 
to  serve  him  with  the  cup  which  was  made  of  horn. 
Seeing  him  standing,  his  Master  said  :  '  That  thou 
mayest  see,  Sancho,  the  good  which  is  in  Knight 
Errantry,  and  how  fair  a  chance  they  have  who  exercise 
it  to  arrive  at  honour  and  position  in  the  world,  I  desire 
that  here  by  my  side,  and  in  company  of  these  good 
people,  thou  dost  seat  thyself,  and  be  one  and  the  same 
with  me  that  am  thy  Master  and  natural  Lord.  That 
thou  dost  eat  in  my  dish  and  drink  in  the  same  cup 
wherein  I  drink.  For  the  same  may  be  said  of  Knight 
Errantry  as  is  said  of  Love,  that  it  makes  all  things 
equal.' 

'  Thanks  for  your  favour,'  replied  Sancho,  '  but  I  may 
tell  your  Worship  that  provided  I  have  plenty  to  eat, 
I  can  eat  it  as  well,  and  better,  standing  and  by  myself, 
than  if  I  were  seated  on  a  level  with  an  Emperor. 
And,  indeed,  if  I  speak  the  truth,  what  I  eat  in  my 
corner  without  ceremony,  though  it  be  but  a  bread  and 
onion,  smacks  much  better  than  turkeycocks  at  other 
tables,  where  I  must  chaw  my  meat  leisurely,  drink  but 
little,  wipe  my  hands  often,  nor  do  other  things  that 
solitude  and  liberty  allow.' 

'For  all  that,'  said  Don  Quixote,  4  here  shalt  thou  sit, 
tcr  the  humble  shall  be  exalted,'  and  taking  him  by  the 
arm,  he  forced  his  Squire  to  sit  down  near  himself. 


54        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

The  Goatherds  did  not  understand  the  gibberish  of 
Squires  and  Knights  Errant,  and  did  nothing  but  eat, 
hold  their  peace,  and  stare  at  their  guests,  who  with 
great  relish  were  gorging  themselves  with  pieces  as  big 
as  their  fists.  The  course  of  flesh  being  over,  the  Goat- 
herds spread  on  the  skins  a  great  number  of  parched 
acorns  and  half  a  cheese,  harder  than  if  it  had  been  made 
of  mortar.  The  horn  in  the  meantime  was  not  idle,  but 
came  full  from  the  wine-skins  and  returned  empty,  as 
though  it  had  been  a  bucket  sent  to  the  well. 

After  Don  Quixote  had  satisfied  his  appetite,  he 
took  up  a  fistful  of  acorns,  and  beholding  them  earnestly, 
began  in  this  manner  :  '  Happy  time  and  fortunate  ages 
were  those  which  our  ancestors  called  Golden,  not 
because  Gold — so  much  prized  in  this  our  Iron  Age- 
was  gotten  in  that  happy  time  without  any  labours,  but 
because  those  who  lived  in  that  time  knew  not  these  two 
words,  Thine  and  Mine.  In  that  holy  age  all  things 
were  in  common.  No  man  needed  to  do  au^ht  but  lift 
up  his  hand  and  take  his  food  from  the  strong  oak, 
which  did  liberally  invite  them  to  gather  his  sweet  and 
savoury  fruit.  The  clear  fountains  and  running  rivers 
did  offer  them  transparent  water  in  magnificent  abund- 
ance, and  in  the  hollow  trees  did  careful  bees  erect  their 
commonwealth,  offering  to  every  hand  without  interest 
the  fertile  crop  of  their  sweet  labours.'  Thus  did  the 
eloquent  Knight  describe  the  Golden  Age,  when  all  was 
peace,  friendship,  and  concord,  and  then  he  showed  the 
astonished  Goatherds  how  an  evil  world  had  taken  its 
place,  and  made  it  necessary  for  Knights  Errant  like 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  GOATHERDS  55 

himself  to  come  forward  for  the  protection  of  widows 
arid  orphans,  and  the  defence  of  distressed  damsels.  All 
this  he  did  because  the  acorns  that  were  given  him  called 
to  his  mind  the  Golden  Age.  The  Goatherds  sat 
and  listened  with  grave  attention,  and  Sancho  made 
frequent  visits  to  the  second  wine-skin  during  his  dis- 
course. At  length  it  was  ended,,  and  they  sat  round  the 
fire,  drinking  their  wine  and  listening  to  one  of  the  Goat- 
herds singing,  and  towards  night,  Don  Quixote's  ear 
becoming  very  painful,  one  of  his  hosts  made  a  dressing 
of  rosemary  leaves  and  salt,  and  bound  up  his  wound. 
By  this  means  being  eased  of  his  pain,  he  was  able 
to  lie  down  in  one  of  the  huts  and  sleep  soundly  after 
his  day's  adventures. 

Don  Quixote  spent  several  days  among  the  Goat- 
herds, and  at  length,  when  his  wound  was  better,  he 
thanked  them  for  their  hospitality,  and  rode  away  in 
search  of  new  adventures,  followed  by  the  faithful 
Sancho. 

They  came  to  a  halt  in  a  pleasant  meadow  rich  with 
beautiful  grass,  by  the  side  of  a  delightful  and  refresh- 
ing stream,  which  seemed  to  invite  them  to  stop  and 
spend  there  the  sultry  hours  of  noon,  which  were 
already  becoming  oppressive. 

Don  Quixote  and  Sancho  dismounted,  and  leaving 
Rozinante  and  Dapple  loose,  to  feed  on  the  grass  that 
was  there  in  plenty,  they  ransacked  the  wallet,  and 
without  any  ceremony  fell  to  eating  what  they  found 
in  it. 

Sancho  had  neglected  to  tie  up  Rozinante,  and,  as 


E 


56        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

luck  would  have  it,  a  troop  of  Galician  ponies  belonging 
to  some  Yanguesian  carriers,  whose  custom  it  is  to 
rest  at  noon  with  their  teams  in  spots  and  places  where 
grass  and  water  abound,  were  feeding  in  the  same 
valley. 

It  must  be  believed  that  Rozinante  supposed  that  the 
grass  the  ponies  were  feeding  on  was  better  than  his 
own;  but  be  that  as  it  may,  he  started  off  at  a  little  swift 
trot  to  feed  among  them.  They  resented  his  appear- 
ance, and,  as  he  sought  to  enter  their  ranks  and  feed 
among-  them,  they  received  him  with  their  heels  and 
teeth,  with  such  vigour  that  in  a  trice  he  had  burst  his 
girth,  and  his  saddle  was  stripped  from  his  back.  But 
the  worst  of  all  was  that  the  carriers,  taking  part  with 
their  own  ponies,  ran  up  with  stakes  and  so  belaboured 
him  that  they  brought  him  to  the  ground  in  a  sore 
plight. 

Upon  this  Don  Quixote  and  Sancho,  who  wit- 
nessed the  basting  of  Rozinante,  came  running  up  all  out 
of  breath,  and  Don  Quixote  said  to  Sancho  :  '  From 
what  I  see,  friend  Sancho,  these  be  no  Knights,  but 
base,  rascally  fellows  of  low  breeding.  I  say  this,  that 
thou  mayest  freely  aid  me  in  taking  vengeance  for 
the  wrong  which  they  have  done  to  Rozinante  before 
our  eyes.' 

'  What  vengeance  can  we  take,'  replied  Sancho,  '  when 
there  are  more  than  twenty,  and  we  are  but  two — nay, 
perhaps  but  one  and  a  half  ? ' 

4  I  count  for  a  hundred,'  said  Don  Quixote,  and 
without  further  parley  he  drew  his  sword  and  flew  upon 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  GOATHERDS  57 


the  Yanguesians,  boldly  followed  by  Sancho  Panza. 
With  his  first  blow  Don  Quixote  pierced  a  buff  coat  that 
one  of  them  wore,  wounding  him  grievously  in  the 
shoulder.  Then  the  Yanguesians,  finding  themselves  so 
rudely  handled  by  two  men  only,  they  being  so  many, 
betook  themselves  to  their  stakes,  and  hemming  in  their 
adversaries  in  the  midst  of  them,  they  laid  on  with  great 
fury.  In  fact  the  second  thwack  brought  Sancho  to  the 
ground,  and  the  same  fate  soon  befell  Don  Quixote, 
whose  dexterity  and  courage  availed  him  nothing,  for  he 
fell  at  the  feet  of  his  unfortunate  steed,  who  had  not  yet 
been  able  to  arise. 

Then  seeing  the  mischief  they  had  done,  the  Yangue- 
sians loaded  their  team  with  as  much  haste  as  possible, 
and  went  their  way,  leaving  the  adventurers  in  a  doleful 
plight  and  a  worse  humour. 


THE  /BANNER  . 
OF  DON  QU1XOTCS 
TftftVLL  ToXHi  IMNl 


CHAPTER  VIII 


How  Don  Quixote  arrived  at  an  Inn  which  he 
imagined  to  be  a  Castle,  and  there  cured  himself 
and  Sancho  with  the  Balsam  of  Fierabras 

For  some  time  after  the  Yanguesian  Carriers  had  gone 
on  their  way  Don  Quixote  and  Sancho  Panza  lay  on 
the  ground  groaning  and  saying  nothing. 

The  first  that  came  to  himself  was  Sancho  Panza,  who 
cried  in  a  weak  and  pitiful  voice:  'Sir  Don  Quixote! 
O  Sir  Don  Quixote  ! ' 

'  What  wouldst  thou,  brother  Sancho  ? '  answered 
Don  Quixote  in  the  same  faint  and  grievous  tone  as 
Sancho. 

53 


DON  QUIXOTE  AT  THE  INN 


'  I  would,  if  it  were  possible,'  said  Sancho  Panza, 
'  that  your  Worship  should  give  me  a  couple  of  mouthfuls 
of  that  Balsam  of  Fierabras,  if  so  be  that  your  Worship 
has  it  at  hand.  Perhaps  it  will  be  as  good  for  broken 
bones  as  for  wounds.' 

'If  I  had  it  here/  sighed  Don  Quixote,  'we  should 
lack  nothing.  But  I  swear  to  thee,  Sancho  Panza,  on 
the  faith  of  a  Knight  Errant,  that  before  two  days  pass, 
unless  fortune  forbids,  I  will  have  it  in  my  possession.' 

'I  pray  you,'  asked  Sancho,  'in  how  many  days  do 
you  think  we  shall  be  able  to  move  our  feet  ? ' 

'  I  cannot  say,'  said  the  battered  Knight;  'but  I  take 
on  myself  the  blame  of  all,  for  I  should  not  have  drawn 
my  sword  against  men  that  are  not  Knights.  Therefore, 
brother  Sancho,  take  heed  of  what  I  tell  thee,  for  it 
mightily  concerns  the  welfare  of  us  both  ;  and  it  is  this, 
that  when  thou  seest  such  rabble  offer  us  any  wrong, 
wait  not  for  me  to  draw  sword  upon  them,  for  I  will  not 
do  it  in  any  wise,  but  put  thou  thy  hand  to  thy  sword 
and  chastise  them  at  thy  pleasure.' 

But  Sancho  Panza  did  not  much  relish  his  Master's 
advice,  and  replied  :  '  Sir,  I  am  a  peaceable,  sober,  and 
quiet  man,  and  can  let  pass  any  injury  whatever,  for  I 
have  a  wife  and  children  to  take  care  of.  Therefore,  let 
me  also  say  a  word  to  your  Worship,  that  by  no  manner 
of  means  shall  I  put  hand  to  sword  either  against  Clown 
or  against  Knight.  And  from  this  time  forth  I  forgive 
whatever  insults  are  paid  to  me,  whether  they  are  or 
shall  be  paid  by  persons  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor, 
gentle  or  simple.' 


60       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

On  hearing  this  his  Master  said  :  '  Would  that  I  had 
breath  enough  to  be  able  to  speak  easily,  and  that 
the  pain  I  feel  in  this  rib  were  less,  that  I  might  make 
thee  understand,  Sancho,  the  mistake  thou  art  making ! 
How  can  I  appoint  thee  Governor  of  an  Island  when 
thou  wouldst  make  an  end  of  all  by  having  neither 
valour  nor  will  to  defend  thy  lands  or  revenge  thine 
injuries  ? ' 

'  Alas ! '  groaned  Sancho,  *  I  would  that  I  had  the 
courage  and  understanding  of  which  your  Worship 
speaks,  but  in  truth  at  this  moment  I  am  more  fit  for 
plasters  than  preachments.  See  if  your  Worship  can 
rise,  and  we  will  help  Rozinante,  although  he  deserves 
it  not,  for  he  was  the  chief  cause  of  all  this  mauling.' 

'  Fortune  always  leaves  one  door  open  in  disasters, 
and  your  Dapple  will  now  be  able  to  supply  the  want  of 
Rozinante  and  carry  me  hence  to  some  Castle  where  I 
may  be  healed  of  my  wounds.  Nor  shall  I  esteem  such 
riding  a  dishonour,  for  I  remember  to  have  read  that 
old  Silenus,  tutor  and  guide  of  the  merry  God  of 
Laughter,  when  he  entered  the  City  of  a  hundred  gates, 
rode  very  pleasantly,  mounted  on  a  handsome  ass/ 

'That  may  be,'  replied  Sancho,  'but  there  is  a 
difference  between  riding  a- horseback  and  being  laid 
athwart  like  a  sack  of  rubbish.' 

'  Have  done  with  your  replies,'  exclaimed  Don 
Quixote,  '  and  rise  as  well  as  thou  art  able  and  sit  me  on 
top  of  thine  Ass,  and  let  us  depart  hence  before  the 
night  comes  and  overtakes  us  in  this  wilderness.' 

Then  Sancho,  with  thirty  groans  and  sixty  sighs  and 


DON  QUIXOTE  AT  THE  INN 


61 


a  hundred  and  twenty  curses,  lifted  up  Rozinante — who 
if  he  had  had  a  tongue  would  have  complained  louder 
than  Sancho  himself — and  after  much  trouble  set  Don 
Quixote  on  the  Ass.  Then  tying  Rozinante  to  his  tail, 
he  led  the  Ass  by  the  halter,  and  proceeded  as  best  he 
could  to  where  the  highroad  seemed  to  lie. 

And  Fortune,  which  had  guided  their  affairs  from  good 
to  better,  led  him  on  to  a  road  on  which  he  spied  an  Inn, 
which  to  his  annoyance  and  Don  Quixote's  joy  must 
needs  be  a  Castle.  Sancho  protested  that  it  was  an  InnP 
and  his  Master  that  it  was  a  Castle ;  and  their  dispute 
lasted  so  long  that  they  had  time  to  arrive  there  before 
it  was  finished ;  and  into  this  Inn  or  Castle  Sancho 
entered  without  more  parley  with  all  his  team. 

The  Innkeeper,  seeing  Don  Quixote  laid  athwart  of 
the  Ass,  asked  Sancho  what  ailed  him.  Sancho  answered 
that  it  was  nothing,  only  that  he  had  fallen  down  from 
a  rock,  and  had  bruised  his  ribs  somewhat.  The  Inn- 
keeper's wife  was  by  nature  charitable,  and  she  felt  for 
the  sufferings  of  others,  so  she  hastened  at  once  to 
attend  to  Don  Quixote,  and  made  her  daughter,  a 
comely  young  maiden,  help  her  in  taking  care  of  her 
guest.  There  was  also  serving  in  the  Inn  an  Asturian 
wench,  broad-cheeked,  flat-pated,  with  a  snub  nose, 
blind  of  one  eye  and  the  other  not  very  sound.  This 
young  woman,  who  was  called  Maritornes,  assisted  the 
daughter,  and  the  two  made  up  a  bed  for  Don  Quixote 
in  a  garret  which  had  served  for  many  years  as  a  straw- 
loft.  The  bed  on  which  they  placed  him  was  made  of 
four  roughly  planed  boards  on  two  unequal  trestles  ;  a 


62        THE  STORY  OF  DOX  QUIXOTE 

mattress  which,  in  thinness,  might  have  been  a  quilt,  so 
full  of  pellets  that  if  they  had  not  through  the  holes 
shown  themselves  to  be  wool,  they  would  to  the  touch 
seem  to  be  pebbles.  There  was  a  pair  of  sheets  made 
of  target  leather  ;  and  as  for  the  coverlet,  if  any  one  had 
chosen  to  count  the  threads  of  it  he  could  not  have 
missed  one  in  the  reckoning. 

On  this  miserable  bed  did  Don  Quixote  lie,  and 
presently  the  Hostess  and  her  daughter  plastered  him 
over  from  head  to  foot,  Maritornes  holding  the  candle 
for  them. 

While  she  was  plastering  him,  the  Hostess,  seeing 
that  he  was  in  places  black  and  blue,  said  that  it  looked 
more  like  blows  than  a  fall.  Sancho,  however,  declared 
they  were  not  blows,  but  that  the  rock  had  many  sharp 
points,  and  each  one  had  left  a  mark  ;  and  he  added  : 
'  Pray,  good  Mistress,  spare  some  of  that  tow,  as  my 
back  pains  are  not  a  little.' 

'  In  that  case,'  said  the  Hostess,  'you  must  have  fallen 
too.' 

'  I  did  not  fall,'  said  Sancho  Panza,  1  but  with  the 
sudden  fright  I  took  on  seeing  my  Master  fall,  my  body 
aches  as  if  they  had  given  me  a  thousand  blows,  and  I 
now  find  myself  with  only  a  few  bruises  less  than  my 
Master,  Don  Quixote/ 

1  What  is  this  gentleman's  name  ? 1  asked  Maritornes. 

1  Don  Quixote  of  the  Mancha,'  answered  Sancho  Panza; 
'  and  he  is  a  Knight  Errant,  and  one  of  the  best  and 
strongest  that  have  been  seen  in  the  world  these  many 
a^es.' 


DON  QUIXOTE  AT  THE  INN  63 

'What  is  a  Knight  Errant?'  asked  the  wench. 

'  Art  thou  so  young  in  the  world  that  thou  knowest  it 
not  ? '  answered  Sancho  Panza.  '  Know  then,  Sister 
mine,  that  a  Knight  Errant  is  a  thing  which  in  two 
words  is  found  cudgelled  and  an  Emperor.  To-day  he 
is  the  most  miserable  creature  in  the  world,  and  the 
most  needy ;  to-morrow  he  will  have  two  or  three  crowns 
of  Kingdoms  to  give  to  his  Squire.' 

'  How  is  it,  then,'  said  the  Hostess,  '  that  thou  hast 
not  gotten  at  least  an  Earldom,  seeing  thou  art  Squire 
to  this  good  Knight  ? ' 

'  It  is  early  yet,'  replied  Sancho,  '  for  it  is  but  a  month 
since  we  set  out  on  our  adventures.  But  believe  me,  if 
my  Master,  Don  Quixote,  gets  well  of  his  wounds— or 
his  fall,  I  should  say — I  would  not  sell  my  hopes  for  the 
best  title  in  Spain.' 

To  all  this  Don  Quixote  listened  very  attentively,  and 
sitting  up  in  his  bed  as  well  as  he  could,  he  took  the 
Hostess's  hand  and  said  :  '  Believe  me,  beautiful  Lady, 
that  you  may  count  yourself  fortunate  in  having  enter- 
tained me  in  this  your  Castle.  My  Squire  will  inform 
you  who  I  am,  for  self-praise  is  no  recommendation  ; 
only  this  I  say,  that  I  will  keep  eternally  written  in 
memory  the  service  you  have  done  to  me,  and  I  will  be 
grateful  to  you  as  long  as  my  life  shall  endure.' 

The  Hostess,  her  daughter,  and  the  good  Maritornes 
remained  confounded  on  hearing  the  words  of  the 
Knight  Errant,  which  they  understood  as  well  as  if  he 
had  spoken  in  Greek,  but  yet  they  believed  they  were 
words  of  compliment,  and  so  they  thanked  him  for  his 


64        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


courtesy  and  departed,  leaving  Sancho  and  his  Master 
for  the  niorht. 

There  happened  to  be  lodging  in  the  Inn  that  night 
one  of  the  Officers  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood  of  Toledo, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  travel  the  roads  and  inquire  into 
cases  of  highway  robbery.  He  hearing  some  time  later 
that  a  man  was  lying  in  the  house  sorely  wounded  must 
needs  go  and  make  an  examination  of  the  matter.  He 
therefore  lighted  his  lamp  and  made  his  way  to  Don 
Quixote's  garret. 

As  soon  as  Sancho  Panza  saw  him  enter  arrayed  in  a 
shirt  and  a  nightcap  with  the  lamp  in  his  hand,  which 
showed  him  to  be  a  very  ugly  man,  he  asked  his  Master  : 
'  Will  this  by  chance  be  some  Wizard  Moor  come  to 
torment  us  ? ' 

'  A  Wizard  it  cannot  be/  said  Don  Quixote,  '  for 
those  under  enchantment  never  let  themselves  be 
seen.' 

The  Officer  could  make  nothing  of  their  talk,  and 
came  up  to  Don  Quixote,  who  lay  face  upwards  encased 
in  his  plasters.  '  Well,'  said  the  Officer  roughly,  '  how 
goes  it,  my  good  fellow  ? ' 

'  I  would  speak  more  politely  if  I  were  you,'  answered 
Don  Quixote.  '  Is  it  the  custom  in  this  country,  lout, 
to  speak  in  that  way  to  a  Knight  Errant  ? ' 

The  Officer,  finding  himself  thus  rudely  addressed, 
could  not  endure  it,  and,  lifting  up  the  lamp,  oil  and  all, 
gave  Don  Quixote  such  a  blow  on  the  pate  with  it  that 
he  broke  his  head  in  one  or  two  places,  and,  leaving  all 
in  darkness,  left  the  room. 


DON  QUIXOTE  AT  THE  INN  65 

'  Ah ! '  groaned  Sancho,  '  this  is  indeed  the  Wizard 
Moor,  and  he  must  be  keeping  his  treasures  for 
others,  and  for  us  nothing  but  blows.' 

'It  is  ever  so,' replied  Don  Quixote;  'and  we  must 
take  no  notice  of  these  things  of  enchantment,  nor  must 
we  be  angry  or  vexed  with  them,  for  since  they  are 
invisible,  there  is  no  one  on  whom  to  take  vengeance. 
Rise,  Sancho,  if  thou  canst,  and  call  the  Constable  of 
this  fortress,  and  try  to  get  him  to  give  me  a  little  wine, 
oil,  salt,  and  rosemary  to  prepare  the  health-giving 
Balsam,  of  which  I  have  grievous  need,  for  there  comes 
much  blood  from  the  wound  which  the  phantom  hath 
given  me.' 

Sancho  arose,  not  without  aching  bones,  and  crept  in 
the  dark  to  where' the  Innkeeper  was,  and  said  to  him  : 
'  My  Lord  Constable,  do  us  the  favour  and  courtesy  to 
give  me  a  little  rosemary,  oil,  wine,  and  salt  to  cure  one 
of  the  best  Knights  Errant  in  the  world,  who  lies  yonder 
in  bed  sorely  wounded  at  the  hands  of  a  Moorish 
Enchanter.' 

When  the  Innkeeper  heard  this  he  took  Sancho  Panza 
for  a  man  out  of  his  wits,  but  nevertheless  gave  him 
what  he  wanted,  and  Sancho  carried  it  to  Don  Quixote. 
His  Master  was  lying  with  his  hands  to  his  head,  groan- 
ing with  pain  from  the  blows  of  the  lamp,  which,  how- 
ever, had  only  raised  two  big  lumps  ;  what  he  thought 
was  blood  being  only  the  perspiration  running  down 
his  face. 

He  now  took  the  things  Sancho  had  brought,  of 
which  he  made  a  compound,  mixing  them  together 

E 


66        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

and  boiling  them  a  good  while  until  they  came  to 
perfection. 

Then  he  asked  for  a  phial  into  which  to  pour  this 
precious  liquor,  but  as  there  was  not  one  to  be  had  in 
the  Inn,  he  decided  to  pour  it  into  a  tin  oil-vessel  which 
the  Innkeeper  had  given  him. 

This  being  done,  he  at  once  made  an  experiment  on 
himself  of  the  virtue  of  this  precious  Balsam,  as  he 
imagined  it  to  be,  and  drank  off  a  whole  quart  of  what 
was  left  in  the  boiling-pot. 

The  only  result  of  this  was  that  it  made  him  very  sick 
indeed,  as  well  it  might,  and,  what  with  the  sickness 
and  the  bruising  and  the  weariness  of  body,  he  fell  fast 
asleep  for  several  hours,  and  at  the  end  of  his  sleep 
awoke  so  refreshed  and  so  much  the  better  of  his 
bruises  that  he  took  himself  to  be  cured,  and  verily 
believed  he  had  hit  upon  the  Balsam  of  Fierabras. 

Sancho  Panza,  to  whom  his  Master's  recovery  seemed 
little  short  of  a  miracle,  begged  that  he  might  have  what 
was  left  in  the  boiling-pot,  which  was  no  small  quantity. 
Don  Quixote  consenting,  he  took  the  pot  in  both  hands, 
and  tossed  it  down,  swallowing  very  little  less  than  his 
Master  had  done. 

It  happened,  however,  that  Sancho's  stomach  was 
not  so  delicate  as  his  Master's,  and  he  suffered  such 
terrible  pains  and  misery  before  he  was  sick  that  he 
thought  his  last  hour  was  come,  and  cursed  the  Balsam 
and  the  thief  who  had  given  it  to  him. 

Don  Quixote,  seeing  him  in  this  bad  way,  said  :  '  I 
believe,  Sancho,  that  all  this  evil  befalleth  thee  because 


DON  QUIXOTE  AT  THE  INN  67 


thou  art  not  dubbed  Knight,  for  I  am  persuaded  that 
this  Balsam  may  not  benefit  any  one  that  is  not.' 

'  If  your  Worship  knew  that,'  replied  poor  Sancho, 
'bad  luck  to  me  and  mine,  why  did  you  let  me  taste  it  ? 

Before  Don  Quixote  could  reply  to  this,  Sancho 
became  so  terribly  sick  that  he  could  only  lie  groaning 
and  moaning  for  two  hours,  at  *the  end  of  which  he  felt 
so  shaken  and  shattered  that  he  could  scarcely  stand, 
and  sadly  wished  that  he  had  never  become  Squire  to  a 
Knight  Errant. 


68       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAPTER  IX 

How  Sancho  paid  the  Reckoning  at  the  Inn  which 
Don  Quixote  supposed  was  a  Castle 

Now  whilst  Sancho  Panza  lay  groaning  in  his.  bed,  Don 
Quixote,  who,  as  we  have  said,  felt  somewhat  eased  and 
cured,  made  up  his  mind  to  set  off  in  search  of  new 
adventures.  And  full  of  this  desire  he  himself  saddled 
Rozinante  and  put  the  pack-saddle  on  his  Squire's 
beast,  and  helped  Sancho  to  dress  and  to  mount  his  Ass. 
Then  getting  a-horseback  he  rode  over  to  the  corner  of 
the  Inn  and  seized  hold  of  a  pike  which  stood  there,  to 
make  it  serve  him  instead  of  a  lance. 

All  the  people  that  were  staying  at  the  Inn,  some 
twenty  in  number,  stood  staring  at  him,  and  among 
these  was  the  Innkeeper's  daughter.  *  Don  Quixote  kept 
turning  his  eyes  towards  her  and  sighing  dolefully,  which 
every  one,  or  at  least  all  who  had  seen  him  the  night 
before,  thought  must  be  caused  by  the  pain  he  was  in 
from  his  bruises. 

When  they  were  both  mounted  and  standing  by  the 
Inn  gate,  he  called  to  the  Innkeeper  and  said  in  a  grave 
voice :  '  Many  and  great  are  the  favours,  Sir  Constable, 
which  I  have  received  in  this  your  Castle,  and  I  shall 
remain  deeply  grateful  for  them  all  the  days  of  my  life. 


SANCHO  PAYS  THE  RECKONING  69 


If  I  am  able  to  repay  you  by  avenging  you  on  some 
proud  miscreant  that  hath  done  you  any  wrong,  know 
that  it  is  my  office  to  help  the  weak,  to  revenge  the 
wronged,  and  to  punish  traitors.  Ransack  your  memory, 
and  if  you  find  anything  of  this  sort  for  me  to  do,  you 
have  but  to  utter  it,  and  I  promise  you,  by  the  Order 
of  Knighthood  which  I  have  received,  to  procure  you 
satisfaction  to  your  heart's  content.' 

'  Sir  Knight,'  replied  the  Innkeeper  with  equal  gravity, 
'  I  have  no  need  that  your  Worship  should  avenge  me 
any  wrong,  for  I  know  how  to  take  what  revenge  I 
think  good  when  an  injury  is  done.  All  I  want  is  that 
your  Worship  should  pay  me  the  score  you  have  run  up 
this  night  in  mine  Inn,  both  for  the  straw  and  barley  of 
your  two  beasts,  and  your  suppers  and  your  beds.' 

'  This  then  is  an  Inn  ?'  exclaimed  Don  Quixote. 

'Ay,  that  it  is,  and  a  very  respectable  one,  too,' 
replied  the  Innkeeper. 

■  All  this  time  then  I  have  been  deceived,'  said  Don 
Quixote,  '  for  in  truth  I  thought  it  was  a  Castle  and  no 
mean  one.  But  since  it  is  indeed  an  Inn  and  no  Castle, 
all  that  can  be  done  now  is  to  ask  you  to  forgive  me 
any  payment,  for  I  cannot  break  the  laws  of  Knights 
Errant,  of  whom  I  know  for  certain  that  they  never  paid 
for  lodging  or  aught  else  in  the  Inns  where  they  stayed. 
For  the  good  entertainment  that  is  given  them  is  their  due 
reward  for  the  sufferings  they  endure,  seeking  adventures 
both  day  and  night,  winter  and  summer,  a-foot  and  a-horse- 
back,  in  thirst  and  hunger,  in  heat  and  cold,  being  exposed 
to  all  the  storms  of  heaven  and  the  hardships  of  earth.' 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


'All  that  is  no  business  of  mine,'  retorted  the  Inn- 
keeper. '  Pay  me  what  you  owe  me,  and  keep  your 
tales  of  Knights  Errant  for  those  who  want  them.  My 
business  is  to  earn  my  living/ 

'  You  are  a  fool  and  a  saucy  fellow,'  said  Don  Quixote 
angrily,  and,  spurring  Rozinante  and  brandishing  his 
lance,  he  swept  out  of  the  Inn  yard  before  any  one  could 
stop  him,  and  rode  on  a  good  distance  without  waiting 
to  see  if  his  Squire  was  following. 

The  Innkeeper,  when  he  saw  him  go  without  paying, 
ran  up  to  get  his  due  from  Sancho  Panza,  who  also 
refused  to  pay,  and  said  to  him:  *  Sir,  seeing  I  am  Squire 
to  a  Knight  Errant,  the  same  rule  and  reason  for  not 
paying  at  inns  and  taverns  hold  as  good  for  me  as  for 
my  Master.' 

The  Innkeeper  grew  angry  at  these  words,  and 
threatened  that  if  he  did  not  pay  speedily  he  would 
get  it  from  him  in  a  way  he  would  not  like. 

Sancho  replied  that  by  the  Order  of  Knighthood 
which  his  Lord  and  Master  had  received,  he  would  not 
pay  a  penny  though  it  cost  him  his  life. 

But  his  bad  fortune  so  managed  it,  that  there  hap- 
pened to  be  at  the  Inn  at  this  time  four  wool-combers 
of  Segovia,  and  three  needlemakers  of  Cordova,  and 
two  neighbours  from  Seville,  all  merry  fellows,  very 
mischievous  and  playsome.  And  as  if  they  were  all 
moved  with  one  idea,  they  came  up  to  Sancho,  and 
pulling  him  down  off  his  Ass,  one  of  them  ran  in  for 
the  Innkeepers  blanket,  and  they  flung  him  into  it. 
But  looking  up  and  seeing  that  the  ceiling  was  some- 


SANCHO  PAYS  THE 


RECKONING 


7i 


what  lower  than  they  needed  for  their  business,  they 
determined  to  go  out  into  the  yard,  which  had  no  roof 
but  the  sky,  and  there  placing  Sancho  in  the  middle  of 
the  blanket,  they  began  to  toss  him  aloft  and  to  make 
sport  with  him  by  throwing  him  up  and  down.  The 
outcries  of  the  miserable  be-tossed  Squire  were  so  many 
and  so  loud  that  they  reached  the  ears  of  his  Master, 
who,  standing  awhile  to  listen  what  it  was,  believed 
that  some  new  adventure  was  at  hand,  until  he  clearly 
recognised  the  shrieks  to  come  from  poor  Sancho. 
Immediately  turning  his  horse,  he  rode  back  at  a  gallop 
to  the  Inn  gate,  and  finding  it  closed,  rode  round  the 
wall  to  see  if  he  could  find  any  place  at  which  he  might 
enter.  But  he  scarcely  got  to  the  wall  of  the  Inn  yard, 
which  was  not  very  high,  when  he  beheld  the  wicked 
sport- they  were  making  with  his  Squire.  He  saw  him 
go  up  and  down  wTith  such  grace  and  agility,  that,  had 
his  anger  allowed  him,  I  make  no  doubt  he  would  have 
burst  with  laughter.  He  tried  to  climb  the  wall  from 
his  horse,  but  he  was  so  bruised  and  broken  that  he 
could  by  no  means  alight  from  his  saddle,  and  therefore 
from  on  top  of  his  horse  he  used  such  terrible  threats 
against  those  that  wrere  tossing-  Sancho  that  one  could 
not  set  them  down  in  writing. 

But  in  spite  of  his  reproaches  they  did  not  cease  from 
their  laughter  or  labour,  nor  did  the  flying  Sancho  stop 
his  lamentations,  mingled  now  with  threats  and  now  with 
prayers.  Thus  they  carried  on  their  merry  game,  until 
at  last  from  sheer  weariness  they  stopped  and  let  him 
be.    And  then  they  brought  him  his  Ass,  and,  helping 


F 


72       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

him  to  mount  it,  wrapped  him  in  his  coat,  and  the  kind- 
hearted  Maritornes,  seeing  him  so  exhausted,  gave  him 
a  pitcher  of  water,  which,  that  it  might  be  the  cooler, 
she  fetched  from  the  well. 

Just  as  he  was  going  to  drink  he  heard  his  Master's 
voice  calling  to  him,  saying  :  1  Son  Sancho,  drink  not 
water,  drink  it  not,  my  son,  for  it  will  kill  thee.  Behold, 
here  I  have  that  most  holy  Balsam,' — and  he  showed 
him  the  can  of  liquor, — '  two  drops  of  which  if  thou 
drinkest  thou  wilt  undoubtedly  be  cured.' 

At  these  words  Sancho  shuddered,  and  replied  to  his 
Master :  '  You  forget  surely  that  I  am  no  Knight,  or 
else  you  do  not  remember  the  pains  I  suffered  last 
evening.  Keep  your  liquor  to  yourself,  and  let  me  be 
in  peace.' 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  speech  he  began  to  drink, 
but  finding  it  was  only  water  he  would  not  taste  it,  and 
called  for  wine,  which  Maritornes  very  kindly  fetched 
for  him,  and  likewise  paid  for  it  out  of  her  own  purse. 

As  soon  as  Sancho  had  finished  drinking,  he  stuck 
his  heels  into  his  Ass,  and  the  Inn  gate  being  thrown 
wide  open  he  rode  out,  highly  pleased  at  having  paid 
for  nothing,  even  at  the  price  of  a  tossing.  The 
Innkeeper,  however,  had  kept  his  wallet,  but  Sancho 
was  so  distracted  when  he  departed  that  he  never 
missed  it. 

When  Sancho  reached  his  Master,  he  was  almost  too 
jaded  and  faint  to  ride  his  beast.  Don  Quixote,  seeing 
him  in  this  plight,  said  to  him  :  '  Now  I  am  certain  that 
yon  Castle  or  Inn  is  without  doubt  enchanted,  for  those 


SANCHO  PAYS  THE  RECKONING  73 


who  made  sport  with  thee  so  cruelly,  what  else  could 
they  be  but  phantoms,  and  beings  of  another  world  ? 
And  I  am  the  more  sure  of  this,  because  when  I  was 
by  the  wall  of  the  Inn  yard  I  was  not  able  to  mount 
it,  or  to  alight  from  Rozinante,  and  therefore  I  must 
have  been  enchanted.  For  if  I  could  have  moved, 
I  would  have  avenged  thee  in  a  way  to  make  those 
scoundrels  remember  the  jest  for  ever,  even  although 
to  do  it  I  should  have  had  to  disobey  the  rules  of 
Knighthood.' 

4  So  would  I  also  have  avenged  myself,'  said  Sancho, 
*  Knight  or  no  Knight,  but  I  could  not.  And  yet  I 
believe  that  those  who  amused  themselves  with  me  were 
no  phantoms  or  enchanted  beings,  but  men  of  flesh  and 
bones  as  we  are,  for  one  was  called  Pedro,  and  another 
Tenorio,  and  the  Innkeeper  called  a  third  Juan.  But 
what  I  make  out  of  all  this,  is  that  those  adventures 
which  we  go  in  search  of,  will  bring  us  at  last  so  many 
misadventures  that  we  shall  not  know  our  right  foot 
from  our  left.  And  the  best  thing  for  us  to  do,  in  my 
humble  opinion,  is  to  return  us  again  to  our  village 
and  look  after  our  own  affairs,  and  not  go  jumping, 
as  the  saying  is,  "  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the 
nre. 

How  little  dost  thou  know  of  Knighthood,  friend 
Sancho,'  replied  Don  Quixote.  '  Peace,  and  have 
patience,  for  a  day  will  come  when  thou  shalf  see 
with  thine  own  eyes  how  fine  a  thing  it  is  to  follow 
this  calling.  What  pleasure  can  equal  that  of  winning 
a  battle  or  triumphing  over  an  enemy  ? ' 


74        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


'  I  cannot  tell,'  answered  Sancho  ;  '  but  this  I  know, 
that  since  we  are  Knights  Errant,  we  have  never  won 
any  battle,  unless  it  was  that  with  the  Biscayan,  and  even 
then  your  Worship  lost  half  an  ear.  And  ever  after  that 
time  it  has  been  nothing  but  cudgels  and  more  cudgels, 
blows  and  more  blows, — I  getting  the  tossing  in  the 
blanket  to  boot.  And  all  this  happens  to  me  from 
enchanted  people  on  whom  I  cannot  take  vengeance.' 

'That  grieves  me,'  replied  Don  Quixote;  'but  who 
knows  what  may  happen  ?  Fortune  may  bring  me  a 
sword  like  that  of  Amadis,  which  did  not  only  cut  like 
a  razor,  but  there  was  no  armour  however  strong  or 
enchanted  which  could  stand  before  it.' 

'It  will  be  like  my  luck,'  said  Sancho,  *  that  when 
your  Worship  finds  such  a  sword  it  will,  like  the  Balsam, 
be  of  use  only  to  those  who  are  Knights,  whilst  poor 
Squires  will  still  have  to  sup  sorrow.' 

4  Fear  not  that,  Sancho,'  replied  his  Master ;  and  he 
rode  ahead,  his  mind  full  of  adventures,  followed  at  a 
little  distance  by  his  unhappy  Squire. 


4> 


Whilst  they  were  riding  on  their  way,  Don  Quixote 
saw  a  large,  dense  cloud  of  dust  rolling  towards  them, 
and  turning  to  Sancho  said  :  '  This  is  the  clay  on  which 
shall  be  shown  the  might  of  my  arm  and  on  which  I 
am  to  do  deeds  which  shall  be  written  in  the  books 
of  fame.  Dost  thou  see  the  dust  which  arises  there? 
Know  then  that  it  is  caused  by  a  mighty  army  com- 
posed of  various  and  numberless  nations  that  are  march- 
ing this  way.' 

'If  that  be  so,'  replied  Sancho,  '  then  must  there  be 
two  armies,  for  on  this  other  side  there  is  as  great 
a  dust.' 

75 


76        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


Don  Quixote  turned  round  to  behold  it,  and  seemg- 
that  it  was  so,  he  was  marvellous  glad,  for  he  imagined 
that  there  were  indeed  two  armies  coming  to  fight  each 
other  in  the  midst  of  that  spacious  plain.  For  at  every 
hour  and  moment  his  fancy  was  full  of  battles,  enchant- 
ments, and  adventures,  such  as  are  related  in  the  books 
of  Knighthood,  and  all  his  thoughts  and  wishes  were 
turned  towards  such  things. 

As  for  the  clouds  he  had  seen,  they  were  raised  by 
two  large  flocks  of  sheep  which  were  being  driven  along" 
the  same  road  from  two  opposite  sides,  and  this  by 
reason  of  the  dust  could  not  be  seen  until  they  came 
near. 

Don  Quixote  was  so  much  in  earnest  when  he  called 
them  armies  that  Sancho  at  once  believed  it,  asking  : 
'  What  then  shall  we  do,  good  Master? ' 

'  What ! '  cried  Don  Quixote.  '  Why,  favour  and  help 
those  who  are  in  distress  and  need.  Thou  must  know, 
Sancho,  that  this  which  comes  on  our  front  is  led  by  the 
mighty  Emperor  Alifamfaron,  Lord  of  the  great  Island 
of  Trapobana.  This  other  which  is  marching  at  our 
back  is  the  army  of  his  foe,  the  King  of  the  Garamantes, 
Pentapolin  of  the  Naked  Arm,  for  he  always  goes  into 
battle  with  his  right  arm  bare.' 

*  But  why  do  these  two  Princes  hate  each  other  so 
much  ?  '  asked  Sancho.  • 

4  They  are  enemies,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  'because 
Alifamfaron  is  a  furious  pagan  and  is  deeply  in  love 
with  Pentapolin's  daughter,  who  is  a  beautiful  and 
gracious  Princess  and  a  Christian.     Her  father  refuses 

o 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  ARMIES  77 


to  give  her  to  the  pagan  King  until  he  abandons 
Mahomet's  false  religion  and  becomes  a  convert  to 
his  own.' 

'  By  my  beard,'  said  Sancho,  '  Pentapolin  does  rignt 
well,  and  I  will  help  him  all  I  can.' 

cThen  thou  wilt  but  do  thy  duty,'  said  Don  Quixote, 
'for  it  is  not  necessary  to  be  a  dubbed  Knight  to 
engage  in  battles  such  as  these.' 

'  Right ! '  replied  Sancho,  '  but  where  shall  we  stow 
this  Ass  that  we  may  be  sure  of  finding  him  after  the 
fight  is  over,  for  I  think  it  is  not  the  custom  to  enter 
into  battle  mounted  on  such  a  beast.' 

'  That  is  true,'  said  Don  Quixote  ;  '  but  thou  mayest 
safely  leave  it  to  chance  whether  he  be  lost  or  found, 
for  after  this  battle  we  shall  have  so  many  horses  that 
even  Rozinante  runs  a  risk  of  being  changed  for  another. 
And  now  let  us  withdraw  to  that  hillock  yonder  that  we 
may  get  a  better  view  of  both  those  great  armies.' 

They  did  so,  and  standing  on  the  top  of  a  hill  gazed 
at  the  two  great  clouds  of  dust  which  the  imagination 
of  Don  Quixote  had  turned  into  armies.  And  then 
Don  Quixote,  with  all  the  eloquence  he  could  muster, 
described  to  Sancho  the  names  of  the  different  Knights 
in  the  two  armies,  with  their  colours  and  devices  and 
mottoes,  and  the  numbers  of  their  squadrons,  and  the 
countries  and  provinces  from  which  they  came. 

But  though  Sancho  stood  and  listened  in  wonder  he 
could  see  nothing  as  yet  of  Knights  or  armies,  and  at 
last  he  cried  out  :  '  Where  are  all  these  grand  Knights, 
good  my  Master?    For  myself,  I  can  see  none  of  them. 


78 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


But  perhaps  it  is  all  enchantment,  as  so  many  things 
have  been.' 

'  How  !  Sayest  thou  so  ?'  said  Don  Quixote.  '  Dost 
thou  not  hear  the  horses  neigh  and  the  trumpets  sound 
and  the  noise  of  the  drums  ? ' 

'I  hear  nothing  else,'  said  Sancho,  'but  the  great 
bleating  of  sheep.' 

And  so  it  was,  indeed,  for  by  this  time  the  two  flocks 
were  approaching  very  near  to  them. 

'The  fear  thou  art  in/  said  Don  Quixote,  'permits 
thee  neither  to  see  nor  hear  aright,  for  one  of  the  effects 
of  fear  is  to  disturb  the  senses  and  make  things  seem 
different  from  what  they  are.  If  thou  art  afraid,  stand 
to  one  side  and  leave  me  to  myself,  for  I  alone  can  give 
the  victory  to  the  side  which  I  assist.' 

So  saying  he  clapped  spurs  to  Rozinante,  and,  setting 
his  lance  in  rest,  rode  down  the  hillside  like  a  thunderbolt. 

Sancho  shouted  after  him  as  loud  as  he  could  : 
'  Return,  good  Sir  Don  Quixote  !  Return  !  For  verily 
all  those  you  go  to  charge  are  but  sheep  and  muttons. 
Return,  I  say !  Alas  that  ever  I  was  born !  What 
madness  is  this  ?  Look,  there  are  neither  Knights,  nor 
arms,  nor  shields,  nor  soldiers,  nor  Emperors,  but  only 
sheep.    What  is  it  you  do,  wretch  that  I  am  ? ' 

For  all  this  Don  Quixote  did  not  turn  back,  but  rode 
on,  shouting  in  a  loud  voice  :  '  So  ho !  Knights  !  Ye 
that  serve  and  fight  under  the  banner  of  Pentapolin  of 
the  Naked  Arm,  follow  me,  all  of  you.  Ye  shall  see 
how  easily  I  will  revenge  him  on  his  enemy  Alifamfaron 
of  Trapobana ! ' 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  ARMIES 


79 


'  With  these  words  he  dashed  into  the  midsi  of  the 
flock  of  sheep,  and  began  to  spear  them  with  as  much 
courage  and  fury  as  if  he  were  fighting  his  mortal 
enemies. 

The  Shepherds  that  came  with  the  flock  cried  to  him 
to  leave  off,  but  seeing  their  words  had  no  effect,  they 
unloosed  their  slings  and  began  to  salute  his  pate  with 
stones  as  bio-  as  one's  fist. 

But  Don  Quixote  made  no  account  of  their  stones,  and 
galloping  to  and  fro  everywhere  cried  out :  '  Where  art 
thou,  proud  Alifamfaron  ?  WTfiere  art  thou  ?  Come  to 
me,  for  I  am  but  one  Knight  alone,  who  desires  to  prove 
my  strength  with  thee,  man  to  man,  and  make  thee 
yield  thy  life  for  the  wrong  thou  hast  done  to  the 
valorous  Pentapolin.' 

At  that  instant  a  stone  gave  him  such  a  blow  that  it 
buried  two  of  his  ribs  in  his  body.  Finding  himself  so 
ill-treated  he  thought  for  certain  that  he  was  killed  or 
sorely  wounded,  and  recollecting  his  Balsam,  he  drew 
out  his  oil  pot  and  set  it  to  his  mouth  to  drink.  But 
before  he  could  take  as  much  as  he  wanted,  another 
stone  struck  him  full  on  the  hand,  broke  the  oil  pot  into 
pieces,  and  carried  away  with  it  three  or  four  teeth  and 
grinders  out  of  his  mouth,  and  sorely  crushed  two  fingers 
of  his  hand.  So  badly  was  he  wounded  by  these 
two  blows  that  he  now  fell  off  his  horse  on  to  the 
ground. 

The  Shepherds  ran  up,  and  believing  that  they  had 
killed  him,  they  collected  their  flocks  in  great  haste,  and 
carrying  away  their  dead  muttons,  of  which  there  were 


80       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

seven,  they  went  away  without  caring  to  inquire  into 
things  any  further. 

Sancho  was  all  this  time  standing  on  the  hill  looking 
at  the  mad  pranks  his  Master  was  performing,  and 
tearing  his  beard  and  cursing  the  hour  when  they  had 
first  met.  Seeing,  however,  that  he  was  fallen  on  the 
ground,  and  the  Shepherds  had  gone  away,  he  came 
down  the  hill  and  went  up  to  his  Master,  and  found  him 
in  a  very  bad  way,  although  not  quite  insensible. 

'  Did  I  not  tell  you,  Sir  Don  Quixote,'  said  Sancho 
mournfully,  '  did  I  not  tell  you  to  come  back,  for  those 
you  went  to  attack  were  not  armies  but  sheep  ? ' 

'  That  thief  of  an  Enchanter,  my  enemy,  can  alter 
things  and  make  men  vanish  away  as  he  pleases. 
Know,  Sancho,  that  it  is  very  easy  for  those  kind  of 
men  to  make  us  seem  what  they  please,  and  this 
malicious  being  who  persecutes  me,  envious  of  the 
glory  that  I  was  to  reap  from  this  battle,  hath  changed 
the  Squadrons  of  the  foe  into  flocks  of  sheep.  If  thou 
dost  not  believe  me,  Sancho,  get  on  thine  Ass  and 
follow  them  fair  and  softly,  and  thou  shalt  see  that  when 
they  have  gone  a  little  way  off  they  will  return  to  their 
original  shapes,  and,  ceasing  to  be  sheep,  become  men  as 
right  and  straight  as  I  painted  them  to  you  at  first.' 

At  this  moment  the  Balsam  that  Don  Quixote  had 
swallowed  began  to  make  him  very  sick,  and  Sancho 
Panza  ran  off  to  search  in  his  wallet  for  something  that 
mio-ht  cure  him.  But  when  he  found  that  his  wallet  was 
not  upon  his  Ass,  and  remembered  for  the  first  time  that 
it  was  left  at  the  Inn,  he  was  on  the  point  of  losing  his 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  ARMIES  81 

wits.  He  cursed  himself  anew,  and  resolved  in  his  heart 
to  leave  his  Master  and  return  to  his  house,  even  though 
he  should  lose  his  wages  and  the  government  of  the 
promised  Island. 

Don  Quixote  had  now  risen,  and  with  his  left  hand  to 
his  mouth  that  the  rest  of  his  teeth  might  not  fall  out, 
with  the  other  he  took  Rozinante  by  the  bridle,  and  went 
up  to  where  his  Squire  stood  leaning  against  his  Ass  with 
his  head  in  his  hand,  looking  the  picture  of  misery. 

Don  Quixote,  seeing  him  look  so  miserable,  said  to 
him  :  '  Learn,  Sancho,  not  to  be  so  easily  downcast, 
for  these  storms  that  befall  us  are  signs  that  the  weather 
will  soon  be  fair.  Therefore  thou  shouldst  not  vex  thy- 
self about  my  misfortunes,  for  sure  thou  dost  not  share 
in  them.' 

*  How  not  ? '  replied  Sancho  ;  '  mayhap  he  they  tossed 
in  a  blanket  yesterday  was  not  my  father's  son  ?  And 
the  wallet  which  is  missing  to-day  with  all  my  chattels, 
is  not  that  my  misfortune  ? ' 

'  What,  is  the  wallet  missing,  Sancho  ? '  said  Don 
Quixote. 

'  Yes,  it  is  missing,'  answered  Sancho. 
'  In  that  case  we  have  nothing  to  eat  to-day,'  said 
Don  Quixote. 

■  It  would  be  so,'  said  Sancho,  'should  the  herbs  of 
the  field  fail  us,  which  your  Worship  says  you  know  of, 
and  with  which  you  have  to1^.  me  Knights  Errant  must 
supply  their  wants.' 

'  Nevertheless,'  answered  Don  Quixote,  '  I  would 
rather  just  now  have  a  hunch  of  bread,  or  a  cottage 

F 


82 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


loaf  and  a  couple  of  pilchards'  heads,  than  all  the  herbs 
that  Dioscorides  has  described.  But  before  thou  mountest 
thine  Ass,  lend  me  here  thy  hand  and  see  how  many 
teeth  and  grinders  are  lacking  on  this  right  side  of  my 
upper  jaw,  for  there  I  feel  the  pain.' 

Sancho  put  his  fingers  in,  and,  feeling  about,  asked  : 
*  How  many  grinders  did  your  Worship  have  before,  on 
this  side  ? ' 

'  Four,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  ■  besides  the  wisdom 
tooth,  all  whole  and  sound.' 

'  Mind  well  what  you  say,  Sir,'  answered  Sancho. 

'  Four,  say  I,  if  not  five,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'for  in  all 
my  life  I  never  had  tooth  or  grinder  drawn  from  my 
mouth,  nor  has  any  fallen  out  or  been  destroyed  by 
decay.' 

'  Well,  then,  in  this  lower  part,'  said  Sancho,  '  your 
Worship  has  but  two  grinders  and  a  half,  and  in  the 
upper,  neither  a  half  nor  any,  for  all  is  as  smooth  as  the 
palm  of  my  hand.' 

'Unfortunate  I!'  exclaimed  Don  Quixote,  'for  I 
would  rather  they  had  deprived  me  of  my  arm,  as  long 
as  it  were  not  my  sword  arm.  Know,  Sancho,  that  a 
mouth  without  o-rinders  is  like  a  mill  without  a  grind- 

o  o 

stone,  and  a  tooth  is  more  to  be  prized  than  a  millstone. 
But  all  this  must  we  suffer  who  profess  the  stern  rule  of 
Knights  Errant.  Mount,  friend,  and  lead  the  way,  for  I 
will  follow  thee  what  pace  thou  pleasest.' 


went  through  without  peril  to  himself 
or  Sancho 

£  Methinks,  my  Master,'  said  Sancho,  '  that  all  the 
mishaps  that  have  befallen  us  in  these  days  are  with- 
out doubt  in  punishment  for  the  sin  you  committed 
against  the  rules  of  Knighthood,  in  not  keeping  your 
vow  which  you  made,  not  to  eat  bread,  and  all  the  other 
things  you  vowed  to  do,  until  you  got  the  helmet 
of  Malandrino,  or  whatever  his  name  was.' 

'  Thou  art  very  right,  Sancho/  said  Don  Quixote  ; 
'  but  to  tell  the  truth  it  had  passed  from  my  memory  ;, 

£3 


84        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

but  I  will  make  amends  as  may  be  done  by  the  rules 
of  Knighthood/ 

'And  doubtless,'  replied  Sancho,  'all  will  then  be 
well,  and  I  shall  live  to  see  none  so  great  as  Don 
Quixote  of  the  Mancha,  the  Knight  of  the  Rueful 
Countenance.' 

'  Why  do  you  give  me  that  name,  good  Sancho  ?  ' 
asked  his  Master. 

'Because  truly,'  replied  his  Squire,  'your  Worship 
has  now  the  most  ill-favoured  face  that  any  man  ever 
saw,  and  it  must  be,  I  think,  because  you  are  tired  out 
after  the  battle,  or  on  account  of  the  loss  of  your 
grinders.' 

'  I  fancy,'  said  Don  Quixote,  '  that  some  sage  must 
have  put  it  into  thy  head  to  give  me  such  a  name,  for 
now  I  remember  that  all  Knights  took  a  name  of  that 
kind,  and  there  was  "  The  Knight  of  the  Flaming 
Sword,"  and,  "The  Knight  of  the  Griffin,"  and  many 
another.  And  from  this  day  forward  I  shall  call  myself 
by  no  other  name  than  "The  Knight  of  the  Rueful 
Countenance"  ;  and  that  the  name  may  become  me 
better,  I  will  upon  the  first  occasion  cause  to  be 
painted  on  my  shield  a  most  ill-favoured  and  sorrow- 
ful face/ 

'There  is  no  need,'  said  Sancho,  'to  waste  time  and 
money  in  having  the  countenance  painted.  All  that 
has  to  be  done  is  that  your  Worship  should  discover 
your  own,  and  show  your  face  to  those  that  look  at 
you,  when  without  doubt  they  will  name  you  "  He  of 
the  Rueful  Countenance."      Hunger  and  the  loss  of 


A  WONDERFUL  ADVENTURE  85 


teeth  have  given  your  Worship  so  evil  a  face  that 
you  may  spare  yourself  the  painting.' 

Don  Quixote  laughed  at  his  Squire's  pleasantry,  but 
determined  nevertheless  to  have  the  painting  made  on 
his  shield  according  to  his  fancy. 

They  had  now  arrived  at  a  wide  but  hidden  valley 
between  two  mountains,  where  they  alighted  ;  and 
seeing  a  meadow  on  the  side  of  the  hill  thick  with 
green  and  tender  grass,  they  entered  it  and  marched 
along,  feeling  their  way,  for  the  night  was  so  dark  they 
could  not  see  a  jot. 

They  had  scarcely  gone  two  hundred  paces  when 
they  heard  a  great  noise  of  water,  as  if  it  fell  headlong 
from  some  great  and  steep  rock,  and  being  by  this  time 
very  thirsty,  the  sound  cheered  them  greatly. 

Stopping  to  listen  whence  it  came,  they  heard  an- 
other loud  noise,  which  drowned  all  their  joy,  especially 
Sancho's,  who,  as  I  have  said,  was  by  nature  timid  and 
easily  frightened. 

They  heard,  I  say,  certain  blows,  louder  than  the 
sound  of  the  rushing  water,  and  struck  in  <  regular  beats, 
accompanied  by  the  ugly  sounds  of  rattling  irons  and 
chains.  These,  with  the  furious  sounds  of  the  water, 
and  the  surrounding  darkness,  were  enough  to  strike 
terror  into  any  heart  less  brave  than  Don  Quixote's. 

The  night,  as  I  said,  was  dark,  and  they  were  now 
among  some  tall  trees,  whose  leaves,  moved  by  a  gentle 
breeze,  made  a  low  whispering  sound,  so  that  the  lone- 
liness of  the  place,  the  darkness,  the  noise  of  the  water, 
the  strange  sounds  of  the  heavy  beating  and  rattling 


85        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

chains,  all  caused  horror  and  fright,  the  more  so  when 
they  found  that  the  blows  never  ceased,  and  morning 
seemed  as  though  it  would  never  come. 

But  Don  Quixote  was  not  disturbed  by  these  things, 
and  leaping  on  Rozinante,  he  seized  his  shield,  bran- 
dished his  lance,  and  said  :  '  Friend  Sancho,  I  am  he 
for  whom  are  reserved  all  dangerous,  great,  and  valor- 
ous feats.  I  am  he  who  shall  cause  the  feats  of  the 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table  to  be  foro-otten.  Mark 
well,  trusty  and  loyal  Squire,  the  darkness  of  this 
night,  the  strange  stillness,  the  dull,  confused  trembling 
of  the  leaves,  the  dreadful  noise  of  the  water,  which 
seems  as  though  it  were  leaping  down  from  the  steep 
mountains  of  the  moon,  the  constant  thumping  of  the 
blows  which  wounds  and  pains  our  ears,  which  all 
together  and  each  by  itself  are  enough  to  strike  terror, 
fear,  and  amazement  into  the  mind  of  Mars,  how  much 
more  in  his  that  is  not  accustomed  to  such  adventures. 
But  with  me  it  causeth  my  heart  to  almost  burst  in  my 
bosom  with  joy  to  try  this  peril,  however  great  it  may  be. 
Therefore  tighten  Rozinante's  girths  a  little,  and  may  all 
be  well  with  thee.  Wait  for  me  here  three  days  and  no 
more.  And  if  I  do  not  return  in  the  end  of  that  time,  go 
back  to  our  village,  and  from  thence,  for  my  sake,  to 
Toboso,  where  thou  shalt  say  to  my  incomparable  Lady 
Dulcinea  that  her  captive  Knight  died  attempting  things 
that  might  make  him  worthy  to  be  called  hers.' 

When  Sancho  heard  his  Master  say  these  things  he 
began  to  weep  piteously,  and  said  to  him  :  1  Sir,  I  see 
no  reason  why  you  should  undertake  this  fearful  adven- 


A  WONDERFUL  ADVENTURE  87 

ture.  It  is  now  night,  there  is  no  one  sees  us,  we  can 
easily  turn  aside  and  go  away  from  the  danger,  and 
since  no  one  sees  us  no  one  can  set  us  down  as  cowards. 
Remember  that  I  left  my  country,  wife,  and  children  to 
come  and  serve  you,  and  to  obtain  that  unlucky  and 
accursed  Island  you  have  promised  me  so  often,  and 
now  you  mean  to  forsake  me  here  in  this  desert.  Put 
it  off  at  least  until  the  morning,  for  it  can  want  but 
little  from  this  to  daybreak.' 

1  Let  it  want  what  it  may,'  answered  Don  Quixote, 
'  it  shall  never  be  said  of  me  that  tears  or  prayers 
hindered  my  doing  my  duty  as  a  Knight.' 

Sancho,  seeing  that  his  Master's  mind  was  made  up, 
and  that  his  tears,  entreaties,  and  prayers  were  of  no 
avail,  determined  to  use  his  wits,  and  see  if  by  trickery 
he  could  make  him  wait  until  daybreak.  And  so, 
when  he  was  tightening  the  horse's  girths,  he  softly 
and  without  being  felt  tied  his  Ass's  halter  to  both 
Rozinante's  legs,  so  fast  that  when  Don  Quixote  thought 
to  depart  he  could  not,  for  his  horse  was  not  able  to  go  a 
step  except  by  little  jumps. 

Sancho,  seeing  the  success  of  his  trick,  exclaimed  : 
'  Behold,  Sir,  how  Heaven,  moved  by  my  tears  and 
prayers,  has  ruled  that  Rozinante  shall  not  be  able  to 
go  a  step  ;  and  if  you  persist  in  urging,  spurring,  and 
striking  him,  it  will  be  to  anger  Fortune,  and  kick,  as 
the  saying  is,  against  the  pricks.' 

Don  Quixote  grew  angry  at  this,  and  yet  the  more 
he  spurred  Rozinante  the  less  would  he  move.  But  at 
last  he  became  convinced  that  it  was  no  further  use 

G 


88        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

attempting  to  make  him  go,  and  resolved  to  remain 
quiet  until  the  morning  came,  or  until  Rozinante  would 
please  to  depart.  And  having  no  idea  that  Sancho 
was  the  cause  of  this,  he  said  to  him  :  '  Since  it  is  so, 
Sancho,  that  Rozinante  is  not  able  to  move,  I  am 
content  to  wait  here  until  morning  smiles,  although  I 
weep  to  think  it  may  be  so  long  in  coming.' 

'You  shall  have  no  cause  to  weep,'  replied  Sancho; 
'  for  I  will  tell  you  stories  from  now  till  daylight,  unless 
you  would  like  to  dismount  and  snatch  a  little  sleep 
upon  the  green  grass,  after  the  custom  of  Knights 
Errant,  that  you  may  be  the  fresher  the  morrow  to 
finish  this  terrible  adventure.' 

1  Who  talks  of  sleeping  ? '  said  Don  Quixote  angrily. 
'  Am  I  one  of  those  Knights  that  repose  in  time  of 
danger  ?  Sleep  thou,  who  wast  born  to  sleep,  or  do 
what  thou  please,  for  I  shall  do  what  I  think  right.' 

'  Good  Sir,  be  not  angry,'  said  Sancho,  '  for  I  did  not 
mean  that '  ;  and  coming  as  near  to  his  Master  as  he 
durst,  he  placed  one  hand  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle 
and  crept  as  near  as  he  could,  so  great  was  the  fear 
he  had  of  those  blows,  which  all  the  while  did  sound 
without  ceasing. 

After  many  hours  spent  in  conversation  the  dawn 
approached,  and  Sancho,  seeing  this,  unloosed  Rozi- 
nante very  carefully.  As  soon  as  the  horse  felt  himself 
free,  though  he  was  never  very  mettlesome,  he  began 
to  paw  with  his  hoofs,  and  Don  Quixote,  noticing  that 
he  moved,  took  it  for  a  good  sign,  and  believed  that 
it  was  now  time  to  attempt  this  fearful  adventure. 


A  WONDERFUL  ADVENTURE  89 


And  now  the  sun  had  risen,  and  everything  appeared 
distinctly,  and  Don  Quixote  saw  that  he  was  among 
some  tall  chestnut-trees  that  cast  a  very  dark  shadow. 
He  perceived  that  the  hammering  did  not  cease,  but 
could  not  discover  what  caused  it,  and  so  without  delay 
he  spurred  Rozinante,  and  turning  back  again  to  Sancho 
to  bid  him  farewell,  commanded  him  to  stay  for  him 
there  three  days  at  the  longest,  and  that  if  he  re- 
turned not  then,  to  take  it  for  certain  that  he  had  ended 
his  days  in  that  perilous  adventure.  He  again  re- 
peated to  him  the  message  which  he  had  to  carry  to 
Lady  Dulcinea,  and  assured  him  that  if  he  came  safe 
out  of  this  dreadful  peril,  the  Squire  might  hold  the 
promised  Island  as  more  than  certain. 

Here  Sancho  began  to  weep  afresh  at  the  pitiful 
words  of  his  good  Master,  and  determined  not  to 
abandon  him  until  the  last  end  of  this  adventure.  And 
thereupon  Don  Quixote  rode  forward  towards  the 
terrible  noises,  Sancho  following  him  on  foot,  leading 
by  the  halter  his  good  Dapple,  who  was  the  constant 
companion  of  his  good  or  evil  fortune. 

Having  gone  a  good  distance  among  those  chestnuts 
and  shady  trees,  they  came  to  a  little  meadow  which 
lay  at  the  foot  of  some  high  rocks,  down  which  a 
mighty  rush  of  water  descended.  At  the  foot  of  the 
rocks  were  some  houses,  so  roughly  built  that  they 
seemed  more  like  ruins  than  houses,  from  whence 
came  the  din  and  clatter  of  the  strokes  which  still 
never  ceased. 

Rozinante  started  at  the  noise  of  the  water  and  the 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


hammering,  and  being  made  quiet  by  Don  Quixote,  drew 
near  little  by  little  to  the  houses.  Don  Quixote  mur- 
mured devoutly  the  name  of  his  beloved  Lady  Dulcinea, 
and  Sancho,  never  apart  from  his  Master's  side,  stretched 
out  his  neck  and  eyes  as  far  as  he  could,  to  see  if  he 
could  make  out  what  it  was  that  caused  them  so  much 
terror  and  dismay. 

And  when  they  had  gone  about  another  hundred 
paces  they  turned  a  corner,  and  there  before  their  eyes 
was  the  cause  of  that  hideous  and  terrible  noise  that 
had  kept  them  all  the  night  so  miserable  and  frightened. 
This  was  nothing  worse  than  a  mill  for  fulling  cloth, 
whose  six  great  iron  maces  or  pestles,  driven  by  the 
water-wheels,  kept  on  day  and  night  falling  and  rising' 
from  their  troughs  with  successive  hammering  blows. 
And  this  had  caused  the  terrible  noise  which  had  so 
terrified  the  adventurers. 

When  Don  Quixote  saw  what  it  was,  he  stood  mute 
and  ashamed.  .Sancho  beheld  him,  and  saw  that  he 
hung  his  head  on  his  breast.  Don  Quixote  looked  also 
at  his  Squire,  and  saw  that  his  cheeks  were  swollen  with 
laughter,  with  evident  signs  that  he  was  in  danger  of 
bursting.  Don  Quixote's  melancholy  was  not  so  great 
that  he  could  help  smiling  a  little  at  seeing  Sancho,  and 
Sancho,  when  he  saw  his  Master  beginning  to  laugh, 
burst  out  loud  and  long,  with  such  force  that  he  had  to 
put  his  hands  to  his  sides  to  prevent  them  splitting. 

Four  times  he  ended  and  four  times  he  started  again ; 
but  what  chiefly  enraged  Don  Quixote  was  that  he 
began  to  repeat   in  a  jesting   manner,  imitating  his 


A  WONDERFUL  ADVENTURE 


Master :  '  Friend  Sancho,  1  am  he  for  whom  are  re- 
served all  dangerous,  great,  and  valorous  feats.'  And 
he  went  on  repeating  the  greater  part  of  what  Don 
Quixote  had  said  when  they  first  heard  the  fearsome 
sounds. 

This  was  more  than  Don  Quixote  could  bear,  and 
lifting  up  the  end  of  his  lance,  he  gave  him  two  such 
blows  on  the  back,  that  if  he  had  caught  them  on  his 
pate  they  would  have  freed  his  Master  from  paying  him 
any  more  wages. 

Sancho,  seeing  that  he  had  carried  the  jest  too  far, 
said  very  humbly  :  '  Please,  good  Master,  I  did  but  jest.' 

'  But  why  dost  thou  jest?  I  tell  thee  I  do  not  jest,' 
replied  Don  Quixote.  '  Come  here,  Master  Merryman, 
and  tell  me,  am  I,  being  as  I  am  a  Knight,  to  distin- 
guish noises,  and  to  know  which  are  those  of  mills 
and  which  are  of  Giants  ?  Turn  me  those  six  hammers 
into  Giants  and  cast  them  at  me,  one  by  one,  or  all 
together,  and  if  I  do  not  turn  all  their  heels  up,  then 
mock  me  as  much  as  thou  pleasest.' 

'No  more,  good  Sir,' said  Sancho,  'for  I  confess  I 
have  been  somewhat  too  laughsome,  but  henceforth  you 
may  be  sure  that  I  will  not  once  unfold  my  lips  to 
jest  at  your  doings,  but  only  to  honour  you  as  my 
Master  and  Lord.' 

'  By  doing  so  thou  shalt  live  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
for  next  to  our  parents  we  are  bound  to  respect  our 
Masters  as  if  they  were  our  fathers/ 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  great  Adventure  and  rich  Winning  of  the 
Helmet  of  Mambrino 

It  now  began  to  rain,  and  Sancho  would  have  entered 
one  of  the  fulling-mills  for  shelter,  but  Don  Quixote  had 
taken  such  a  dislike  to  them,  on  account  of  the  jest  of 
which  he  had  been  the  victim,  that  he  would  not  go  near 
them. 

Turning  to  the  right,  he  made  away  into  a  highroad 
not  unlike  the  one  on  which  they  had  travelled  the 
day  before.  Very  shortly  Pon  Quixote  espied  a  man 
a-horseback  who  wore  on  his  head  something  that 
glittered  like  gold.  Scarce  had  he  seen  him  when  he 
turned  to  Sancho  and  said :  '  Methinks,  Sancho,  that 
there  is  no  proverb  that  is  not  true,  for  all  proverbs  are 
sentences  taken  out  of  experience  itself,  which  is  the 
universal  mother  of  all  sciences.  And  there  is  a  pro- 
verb which  says,  "When  one  door  shuts  another  opens." 
I  say  this  because  if  Fortune  closed  the  door  for  us  last 
night,  deceiving  us  in  the  adventure  of  the  fulling-mills, 
to-day  it  opens  wide  the  door  to  a  better  and  more 
certain  adventure.  For  here,  if  I  be  not  deceived, 
there  comes  one  towards  us  that  wears  on  his  head  the 


THE  HELMET  OF  MAMBRINO  93 


helmet  of  Mambrino,  about  which  I  made  the  oath  thou 
knowest  of/ 

*  See  well  what  you  say,  Sir,  and  better  what  you  do/ 
said  Sancho,  '  for  I  would  not  meet  with  more  fulling- 
mills  to  hammer  us  out  of  our  senses.' 

*  Peace,  fellow ! '  cried  Don  Quixote  ;  '  what  has  a 
helmet  to  do  with  fulling-mills  ?  ' 

1  I  know  not,'  replied  Sancho  ;  '  but  if  I  might  speak 
as  I  used  to,  I  would  give  you  such  reasons  that  your 
Worship  should  see  that  you  were  mistaken  in  what  you 
say.' 

'  How  can  I  be  mistaken  in  what  I  say?'  cried  Don 
Quixote.  '  Tell  me,  seest  thou  not  that  Knight  who 
comes  riding  towards  us  on  a  dapple  grey  horse,  with  a 
helmet  of  gold  on  his  head  ? ' 

*  That  which  I  see  and  make  out,'  replied  Sancho,  '  is 
nothing  but  a  man  on  a  grey  ass  like  mine  carrying  on 
his  head  something  which  shines.' 

'  Why  that  is  Mambrino's  helmet,'  said  Don  Quixote. 
*  Stand  aside  and  leave  me  alone  with  him,  and  thou 
shalt  see  how,  without  a  word,  this  adventure  shall  be 
ended  and  the  helmet  I  have  longed  for  be  mine.' 

'  As  to  standing  aside,'  muttered  Sancho,  '  that  I  will 
take  care  to  do,  but  I  trust  this  is  not  another  case  of 
fulling-mills.' 

c  I  have  already  told  thee,'  said  Don  Quixote  angrily, 
'  to  make  no  mention  of  the  mills,  and  if  thou  dost  not 
obey  me,  I  vow  that  I  will  batter  the  soul  out  of  thy  body.' 

At  this  Sancho,  fearing  lest  his  Master  should  carry 
out  his  threat,  held  his  peace. 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


Now  the  truth  of  the  matter  as  to  the  helmet,  the  horse, 
and  the  Knight  which  Don  Quixote  saw,  was  this. 
There  were  in  that  neighbourhood  two  villages,  the  one 
so  small  that  it  had  neither  shop  nor  barber,  but  the 
larger  one  had  ;  and  the  barber,  therefore,  served  the 
smaller  village  on  any  occasion  when  any  one  wanted 
his  beard  trimmed.  It  so  happened  that  he  was  now 
journeying  to  the  smaller  village,  bringing  with  him  a 
brazen  basin,  and  as  he  rode  along  it  chanced  to  rain, 
and  therefore,  to  save  his  hat,  which  was  a  new  one,  he 
clapped  the  basin  on  his  head,  and  the  basin  being 
clean  scoured,  glittered  half  a  league  off.  He  rode  upon 
a  grey  ass,  as  Sancho  said,  and  that  was  the  reason  why 
Don  Quixote  took  him  to  be  a  Knight  with  a  helmet  of 
gold  riding  on  a  dapple  grey  steed,  for  everything  he 
came  across  he  made  to  fit  in  with  the  things  he  had 
read  of  in  the  books  of  Knighthood. 

And  when  he  saw  the  unfortunate  rider  draw  near, 
without  stopping  to  speak  a  word,  he  ran  at  him  with 
his  lance,  putting  Rozinante  at  full  gallop,  and  intending 
to  pierce  him  through  and  through.  And  as  he  came 
up  to  him,  without  stopping  his  horse,  he  shouted  to  him  : 
'  Defend  thyself,  caitiff  wretch,  or  else  render  to  me  of 
thine  own  will  what  is  mine  by  all  the  rights  of  war/ 

The  barber,  who  saw  this  wild  figure  bearing  down  on 
him  as  he  was  riding  along  without  thought  or  fear  of 
attack,  had  no  other  way  to  avoid  the  thrust  of  the  lance 
than  to  fall  off  his  ass  on  to  the  ground.  And  no  sooner 
did  he  touch  the  earth  than  he  sprang  up  more  nimbly 
than  a  deer  and  raced  away  across  the  plain  faster  than 


THE  HELMET  OF  MAMBRINO  95 


the  wind,  leaving  behind  him  on  the  ground  the  coveted 
basin.  With  this  Don  Quixote  was  well  content,  and 
-said  that  the  Pagan  was  a  wise  man  in  leaving  behind 
him  that  for  which  he  was  attacked. 

Then  he  commanded  Sancho  to  take  up  the  helmet, 
who  lifting  it  said  :  '  The  basin  is  a  good  one,  and  is 
worth  eight  reals  if  it  is  worth  a  farthing.' 

He  gave  it  to  his  Master,  who  placed  it  upon  his  head, 
turning  it  about  from  side  to  side  in  search  of  the  visor, 
and  seeing  he  could  not  find  it,  said  :  1  Doubtless  the 
Pagan  for  whom  this  helmet  was  first  forged  had  a 
very  great  head,  and  the  worst  of  it  is  that  half  of  the 
helmet  is  wanting.' 

When  Sancho  heard  him  call  the  basin  a  helmet  he 
could  not  contain  his  laughter,  but  presently  remember- 
ing his  Master's  anger,  he  checked  himself  in  the  midst 
of  it. 

'  Why  dost  thou  laugh,  Sancho  ? '  said  Don  Quixote. 

'I  laugh,'  said  he,  'to  think  of  the  great  head  the 
Pagan  owner  of  this  helmet  had.  For  it  is  all  the 
world  like  a  barber's  basin.' 

1  Know,  Sancho,  that  I  imagine,'  replied  Don  Quixote, 
'  that  this  famous  piece  of  the  enchanted  helmet  must 
by  some  strange  accident  have  fallen  into  some  one's 
hands  that  knew  not  its  great  worth,  and  seeing  that 
it  was  of  pure  gold,  he  hath  melted  down  one  half  and 
made  of  the  other  half  this,  which  seems,  as  thou  sayest, 
to  be  a  barber's  basin.  But  be  that  as  it  may,  to  me, 
who  know  its  value,  its  transformation  makes  no  matter. 
I  will  have  it  altered  at  the  first  village  where  I  can  find 


96        THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

a  smith,  and  meanwhile  I  will  wear  it  as  well  as  I  can,  for 
something  is  better  than  nothing,  all  the  more  as  it  will 
do  to  protect  me  against  any  blow  from  a  stone/ 

'  That  is,'  said  Sancho,  '  if  they  do  not  shoot  from  a 
sling,  as  they  shot  in  the  battle  of  the  two  armies,  when 
they  made  their  mark  on  your  Worship's  grinders  and 
broke  the  oil-pot  wherein  you  carried  that  blessed 
Balsam.' 

'  I  do  not  much  care  for  the  loss  of  the  Balsam,' 
replied  Don  Quixote,  '  for  as  thou  knowest,  Sancho,  I 
have  the  receipt  for  it  in  my  memory.' 

-  So  have  I  too,'  groaned  Sancho  ;  '  but  if  ever  I  make 
it  or  try  it  again  as  long  as  I  live  may  this  be  my  last 
hour.  But  letting  that  pass,  what  shall  we  do  with  this 
dapple  grey  steed  that  looks  so  like  a  grey  ass,  that 
Martino,  or  whatever  his  name  was,  has  left  behind 
him  ?  For  from  the  haste  he  made  to  get  away  I  do 
not  think  he  intends  to  come  back,  and  by  my  beard  the 
beast  is  a  good  one.' 

'  I  am  not  accustomed  to  ransack  and  spoil  those 
whom  I  overcome,  nor  is  it  the  practice  of  Knighthood 
to  take  the  horses  of  others  unless  the  victor  chance  in 
combat  to  lose  his  own.  Therefore,  Sancho,  leave  the 
horse  or  ass,  or  what  else  thou  pleasest  to  call  it,  for 
when  his  owner  sees  us  departed  he  will  return  again 
for  it.' 

'Truly,'  said  Sancho,  'the  laws  of  Knighthood  are 
strict,  and  if  I  may  not  change  one  ass  for  another,  may 
I  at  least  change  the  harness  ? ' 

'  Of  that  I  am  not  very  sure,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'and 


THE  HELMET  OF  MAMBRINO 


as  it  is  a  matter  of  doubt,  you  must  not  change  them 
unless  thy  need  is  extreme.' 

'  So  extreme,'  said  Sancho,  '  that  if  they  were  for  mine 
own  person  I  could  not  need  them  more.' 

So  saying  he  decked  out  his  Ass  with  a  thousand 
fineries  robbed  from  the  other,  and  made  him  look  vastly 
better.  Then,  having  taken  a  drink  at  the  stream,  they 
turned  their  backs  on  the  hateful  fulling-mills,  and  rode 
along  the  highroad,  Don  Quixote  all  the  way  describing 
to  Sancho  the  successes  in  store  for  them,  until  he  was 
interrupted  by  an  adventure  that  must  be  told  in  another 
chapter. 


G 


to  which  they  had  no  wish  to  go 

As  they  rode  onwards,  Don  Quixote  lifted  up  his  eyes 
and  saw  coming  along  the  road  about  a  dozen  men  on 
foot,  strung  together  on  a  great  wire  chain  like  beads. 
The  chain  was  fastened  round  their  necks,  and  they  had 
manacles  on  their  hands.  There  rode  with  them  two 
men  a-horseback,  and  two  others  followed  on  foot. 
The  horsemen  had  firelocks,  and  those  on  foot  javelins 
and  swords. 

As  soon  as  Sancho  saw*  them  he  said  :  '  This  is  a 

98 


DON  QUIXOTE  LIBERATES  SLAVES  99 


chain  of  galley  slaves,  people  forced  by  the  King  to  go 
to  the  galleys.' 

'How!  People  forced?'  asked  Don  Quixote.  'Is 
it  possible  that  the  King  will  force  anybody?  ' 

'  I  say  not  so/  answered  Sancho,  'but  they  are  people 
condemned  for  their  offences  to  serve  the  King  in  the 
galleys.' 

'  In  fact,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  'however  you  put  it, 
these  folk  are  being  taken  where  they  go  by  force  and 
not  of  their  own  free  will/ 

1  That  is  so,'  said  Sancho. 

'  Then  if  it  be  so,'  continued  his  Master  '  here  I  see 
before  me  my  duty  to  redress  outrages  and  to  give  help 
to  the  poor  and  the  afflicted/ 

'I  pray  you,  Sir,'  said  Sancho,  'consider  that  Justice, 
representing  the  King  himself,  does  wrong  or  violence 
to  nobody,  but  only  punishes  those  who  have  committed 
crimes.' 

By  this  time  the  chain  of  galley  slaves  came  up,  and 
Don  Quixote  in  very  courteous  words  asked  those  in 
charge  of  them  to  be  good  enough  to  inform  him  why 
they  carried  people  away  in  that  manner. 

One  of  the  guardians  a-horseback  answered  that  they 
were  slaves  condemned  by  his  Majesty  to  the  galleys, 
and  that  there  was  no  more  to  be  said,  nor  ought  Don 
Quixote  to  desire  any  further  information. 

'  For  all  that,'  replied  Don  Quixote  very  politely,  '  I 
would  fain  learn  from  every  one  of  them  the  cause  of 
his  disgrace.' 

To  this  the  guardian  a-horseback  answered  :  'Although 


ioo       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


we  carry  here  the  register  of  the  crimes  of  all  these 
wretches,  yet  if  you  wish  to  do  so,  ask  it  from  themselves  ; 
and  no  doubt  they  will  tell  you  their  stories,  for  they  are 
men  who  take  delight  in  boasting  of  their  rascalities.' 

With  this  permission,  which  Don  Quixote  would  have 
taken  for  himself  if  they  had  not  given  it,  he  went  up  to 
the  chain  and  asked  of  the  first  one  for  what  sins  he 
had  found  himself  in  such  straits. 

He  answered  that  his  offence  was  no  other  than  for 
being  in  love. 

'  For  that  and  no  more  ? '  cried  Don  Quixote  ;  '  but  if 
folk  are  sent  there  for  being  in  love,  I  should  have  been 
pulling  an  oar  there  long  ago.' 

*  My  love, was  not  of  the  kind  your  Worship  imagines,' 
replied  the  galley  slave,  '  for  mine  was  that  I  loved 
overmuch  a  basket  stuffed  with  fine  linen,  which  I 
embraced  so  lovingly,  that  if  the  law  had  not  taken 
it  from  me  by  violence,  I  should  not  of  my  own  free 
will  have  forsaken  it  till  now.  I  was  taken  in  the 
act  and  sent  for  three  years  to  the  galleys.' 

Don  Quixote  now  inquired  of  the  second  his  cause 
of  offence,  but  he  answered  him  not  a  word,  seeming 
too  downcast  and  melancholy  to  speak. 

But  the  first  one  spoke  for  him,  and  said  :  '  Sir,  this 
man  goes  for  being  a  Canary  bird — I  mean  a  musician 
or  singer.' 

'Is  it  possible,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'that  musicians 
and  singers  are  sent  to  the  galleys  ? ' 

'Yes,  indeed,'  said  the  slave,  'there  is  nothing  worse 
than  to  sino-  in  anguish.' 


DON  QUIXOTE  LIBERATES  SLAVES  101 

'I  do  not  understand  it,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'but 
1  have  heard  say  that  he  who  sings  scares  away 
sorrow.' 

But  one  of  the  guards  interrupted  him  and  said  :  '  Sir 
Knight,  among  these  wretches  "  to  sing  in  anguish" 
means  to  confess  on  the  rack.  They  put  this  poor 
wretch  to  the  torture,  and  he  confessed  that  he  was  a 
stealer  of  beasts.  And  because  he  has  confessed  he  is 
condemned  to  the  galleys  for  six  years.  And  he  is  sad 
and  pensive  because  the  other  thieves  maltreat,  abuse, 
and  despise  him.  For,  as  they  say,  a  nay  has  as  many 
letters  as  a  yea,  and  it  is  good  luck  for  a  criminal 
when  there  are  no  witnesses  and  proofs,  and  his  fate 
depends  on  his  own  tongue,  and  in  my  opinion  there 
is  much  reason  in  that.' 

'  I  think  so  likewise,'  said  Don  Quixote,  and  he 
passed  on  to  where  the  third  slave  stood,  and  put  to 
him  the  same  question  as  to  the  others. 

The  man  replied  very  coolly,  saying :  '  I  go  to  the 
galleys  because  I  wanted  ten  ducats.' 

*  I  will  give  thee  twenty  with  all  my  heart  to  free 
thee  from  that  misfortune,'  said  Don  Quixote. 

'That,'  replied  the  Slave,  'would  be  like  one  that 
hath  money  in  the  midst  of  the  sea,  and  yet  is  dying  of 
hunger  because  he  can  get  no  meat  to  buy  with  it. 
It  I  had  had  the  twenty  ducats  your  Worship  offers 
me  at  the  right  time,  I  would  have  greased  the  lawyer's 
pen  with  them,  and  so  sharpened  the  advocate's  wit, 
that  instead  of  being  trailed  along  here  like  a  grey- 
hound, 1  should  now  have  been  walking  about  in  the 


io2       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


market-place  of  Toledo.  But  patience.  What  must 
be  must  be  ! ' 

Don  Quixote  went  from  one  to  another,  receiving- 
different  answers,  until  he  came  to  the  last,  who  was 
a  man  about  thirty  years  old,  of  very  comely  looks, 
except  that  he  had  a  squint.  He  was  differently  tied 
from  the  rest,  for  he  wore  a  chain  to  his  leg,  so  long 
that  it  wound  round  his  whole  body.  He  had  besides 
round  his  neck  two  iron  rings,  from  one  of  which  two 
wires  came  down  to  his  waist,  on  which  were  fastened 
two  manacles.  These  held  his  hands  fast  locked 
with  a  great  hanging  lock,  so  that  he  could  neither  put 
his  hand  to  his  mouth  nor  bend  down  his  head  to 
his  hands. 

Don  Quixote  asked  why  he  was  so  loaded  with  iron 
more  than  the  rest. 

The  Guard  answered  that  it  was  because  he  had  com- 
mitted more  crimes  than  all  the  rest  put  together,  and 
that  he  was  such  a  desperate  scoundrel  that  although 
they  carried  him  tied  up  in  that  fashion,  they  were  not 
sure  of  him,  but  feared  that  he  might  make  an  escape. 
1  He  goes,'  continued  the  Guard,  'to  the  galleys  for  ten 
years  ;  and  when  I  tell  you  he  is  the  infamous  Gines 
of  Passamonte,  you  will  need,  I  think,  to  know  no 
more  about  him.' 

At  this,  Gines,  who  seemed  very  impatient  at  the 
Guard's  history,  broke  out  into  a  torrent  of  abuse,  and 
then,  turning  to  Don  Quixote,  said  :  '  Sir  Knight,  if 
you  have  anything  to  bestow  on  us,  give  it  us  now, 
and  begone,  for  you  do  but  weary  us  by  wanting  to 


DON  QUIXOTE  LIBERATES  SLAVES  103 


know  the  stories  of  other  men's  lives ;  and  if  you  want 
to  learn  more,  know  that  I  am  Gines  of  Passamonte, 
whose  life  has  been  written  by  his  own  hand.' 

4  He  speaks  truly,'  said  the  Guard,  'for  he  himself 
hath  penned  his  own  history.' 

'And  how  is  the  book  called?'  asked  Don  Quixote. 

*  It  is  called  the  Life  of  Gines  of  Passamonte'  replied 
the  Slave. 

'  And  is  it  yet  ended  ? '  inquired  the  Knight. 

'How  can  it  be  finished,'  replied  Gines,  'seeing 
my  life  is  not  yet  finished  ?  I  intend  to  finish  it  in 
the  galleys.' 

'You  seem  to  be  a  clever  fellow,'  said  Don  Quixote. 

'  And  an  unlucky  one,'  replied  Gines,  '  for  bad  luck 
always  pursues  genius/ 

'It  pursues  knaves,'  interrupted  the  Guard;  and  at 
this  Gines  burst  out  again  into  abuse  and  bad  language, 
which  ended  in  the  Guard  threatening  to  beat  him  with 
his  rod  if  he  did  not  hold  his  peace. 

At  this  Don  Quixote  put  himself  between  them,  and 
entreated  the  Guard  not  to  use  him  hardly,  seeing  that 
it  was  not  much  that  one  who  carried  his  hands  so  tied 
should  have  his  tongue  free. 

Then  turning  himself  towards  the  slaves  he  said  : 
•  I  have  gathered  from  all  you  have  said,  dear  brethren, 
that  although  they  punish  you  for  your  faults,  yet  the 
pains  you  suffer  do  not  please  you,  and  that  you  march 
towards  them  with  a  very  ill  will.  All  this  prompts  me 
to  do  that  for  you,  for  which  I  was  sent  into  the  world, 
and  for  which  I  became  a  Knight  Errant,  and  to  which 

H 


104       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

end  I  vowed  at  all  times  to  succour  the  poor  and  help 
those  that  are  oppressed.  But  as  it  is  prudent  not  to 
do  by  foul  means  what  can  be  done  by  fair,  I  will 
entreat  these  gentlemen  your  guardians  that  they  will 
unloose  you  and  let  you  depart  in  peace,  for  it  seems 
to  me  a  harsh  thing  to  make  slaves  of  those  who  are 
born  free.'  And  turning  to  the  guards  he  continued  : 
*  These  things  I  ask  of  you  in  a  peaceable  and  quiet 
manner,  and  if  you  grant  my  request  I  shall  give  you 
my  thanks ;  but  if  you  will  not  do  it  willingly,  then 
shall  this  lance  and  sword  of  mine,  guided  by  the  in- 
vincible valour  of  mine  arm,  force  you  to  do  my 
will.' 

'  This  is  pretty  fooling,'  replied  the  Guard.  '  Would 
you  have  us  release  to  you  those  the  King  has  im- 
prisoned ?  Go  your  way,  good  Sir,  settle  the  basin 
on  your  head  more  straightly,  and  study  to  find  out,  if 
you  have  wits  enough,  how  many  feet  a  cat  has/ 

1  You  are  a  cat  and  a  rat  and  a  knave  ! '  said  Don 
Quixote  in  a  rage.  And  without  a  word  he  set  on 
him  so  fiercely,  and  without  giving  him  time  to  defend 
himself,  that  he  struck  him  to  the  earth  badly  wounded 
with  his  lance.  Luckily  for  the  Knight  this  was  the 
Guard  that  had  the  firelock. 

At  first  the  other  guards  stood  astounded  at  this  un- 
expected event.  Then  they  recovered  themselves,  and 
the  horsemen  drew  their  swords,  the  footmen  grasped 
their  javelins,  and  all  of  them  attacked  Don  Quixote, 
who  quietly  prepared  to  receive  them.  No  doubt  he 
would  have  been  in  some  danger,  but  the  slaves,  seeing 


DON  QUIXOTE  LIBERATES  SLAVES  105 


a  chance  of  liberty,  broke  the  chain  by  which  they 
were  linked  together.  The  hurly-burly  was  such  that 
the  guards  first  ran  to  prevent  the  slaves  getting  free, 
then  to  defend  themselves  from  Don  Quixote  who 
attacked  them,  so  that  they  could  do  nothing  to  any 
purpose  to  keep  their  prisoners.  Sancho,  for  his  part, 
helped  to  loose  Gines  of  Passamonte,  who  was  the  first 
to  leap  into  the  field  free  from  all  fetters,  and  setting 
upon  the  other  overthrown  guard,  he  took  his  sword  and 
firelock  from  him.  With  the  latter  in  his  hand,  by 
pointing  it  at  one  and  aiming  it  at  the  other,  he  cleared 
the  field  of  all  the  guards,  who  were  the  more  easily 
got  rid  of  because  the  galley  slaves  were  now  all  at 
liberty,  and  showered  at  their  late  keepers  volleys  of 
stones. 

When  their  victory  was  complete,  Don  Quixote  called 
all  the  slaves  together,  and  they  gathered  round  to  hear 
what  he  commanded,  when  he  spoke  to  them  as  follows  : 
*  It  is  the  duty  of  well-bred  people  to  be  grateful  for 
benefits  received,  and  ingratitude  is  one  of  the  worst 
of  sins.  I  say  this,  Sirs,  because  you  know  what  good 
you  have  received  at  my  hand,  and  the  only  reward 
I  ask,  is  that  you  all  go  from  here  laden  with  the  chains 
from  which  I  have  just  freed  your  necks  to  the  City 
of  Toboso,  and  there  present  yourselves  before  the  Lady 
Dulcinea  of  Toboso,  and  tell  her  that  her  Knight 
of  the  Rueful  Countenance  sends  you  there  to  do  her 
service.  Relate  unto  her  the  way  in  which  I  won  your 
freedom  ;  and  this  being  done,  you  may  then  go  your 
ways.' 


io6       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

Gines  answered  for  all  the  rest,  saying  :  '  That  which 
you  demand  is  impossible  to  perform,  because  we  must 
not  travel  the  roads  together,  but  go  alone  and  divided, 
to  the  end  that  we  be  not  captured  again  by  the  guards 
of  the  Holy  Brotherhood,  who  will  make  search  for  us. 
To  tell  us  to  go  to  Toboso  is  as  absurd  as  to  seek  for 
pears  on  an  elm-tree,  and  we  shall  not  do  it.' 

At  this  Don  Quixote  was  mightily  enraged,  and  said  r 
'  I  tell  thee,  Don  Gines,  or  whatever  thy  name  is,  that 
after  what  thou  hast  said  thou  shalt  go  thyself  alone, 
with  thy  tail  between  thy  legs  and  bearing  the  whole 
length  of  the  chains  with  thee.' 

Gines,  who  was  a  violent  fellow,  and  quite  understood 
that  Don  Quixote  was  not  very  wise,  seeing  the  foolish 
way  in  which  he  had  set  them  at  liberty,  would  not 
stand  this  abuse,  and  winked  at  his  companions,  who, 
stepping  aside,  sent  such  a  shower  of  stones  against 
Don  Quixote  that  he  had  not  time  to  cover  himself 
with  his  shield,  and  poor  Rozinante  was  in  such  terror 
that  he  would  not  move  forward  to  the  attack.  Sancho 
ran  behind  his  Ass,  and  by  this  means  sheltered  himself 
from  the  tempest  of  stones  that  rained  on  both  of  them. 
Several  stones  struck  Don  Quixote  on  the  body  with 
such  force  that  at  last  he  fell  from  his  horse  and  on  to 
the  ground,  and  no  sooner  was  he  fallen  than  Gines 
leaped  upon  him,  and,  taking  the  basin  from  his  head, 
gave  him  three  or  four  blows  with  it  on  the  shoulders, 
and  afterwards  struck  it  on  the  ground  so  as  to  break  it 
into  pieces.  They  then  stripped  him  of  a  tunic  he  wore 
over  his  armour,  and  would  have  taken  his  stockings 


DON  QUIXOTE  LIBERATES  SLAVES  107 


if  they  could  have  got  them  from  under  his  armour. 
From  Sancho  they  took  his  coat,  leaving  him  in  his 
shirt  sleeves,  and,  dividing  the  spoils  of  battle  among 
themselves,  they  made  the  best  of  their  way  off,  each  one 
as  it  pleased  him,  with  no  further  thought  of  their 
benefactor  or  his  Lady  Dulcinea  of  Toboso. 

The  Ass,  Rozinante,  Sancho,  and  Don  Quixote  re- 
mained alone.  The  Ass,  with  drooping  head,  stood 
shaking  his  ears  every  now  and  then  as  if  he  thought 
the  storm  of  stones  was  not  yet  over,  Rozinante  lay 
overthrown  by  his  Master,  who  was  lying  on  the  ground, 
Sancho  stood  trembling  at  the  thought  of  the  bullets 
of  the  Holy  Brotherhood,  and  Don  Quixote  was  amazed 
to  see  himself  so  wickedly  used  by  those  to  whom  he 
had  done  so  great  a  service. 


io8       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Of  what  befell  Don  Quixote  in  the 
Brown  Mountains 

Don  Quixote,  finding  himself  in  such  a  bad  plight, 
said  to  his  Squire  :  '  I  have  often  heard  it  said  that 
to  do  good  to  ungrateful  men,  is  to  cast  water  into  the 
sea.  If  I  had  listened  to  your  advice,  I  might  have 
avoided  this  trouble.  But,  now  that  it  is  over,  there 
is  nothing  for  it  but  to  be  patient  and  to  be  wise 
another  time.' 

'  If  you  take  warning  by  this  or  anything  else,'  replied 
Sancho,  '  call  me  a  Turk.  But,  as  you  say,  you  might 
have  avoided  this  trouble  by  taking  my  advice.  Listen 
to  what  I  say  now,  and  you  will  avoid  a  greater  danger. 
For  let  me  tell  you  that  it  is  no  use  talking  about 
Knighthood  and  its  customs  to  the  Holy  Brotherhood, 
for  it  cares  not  two  farthings  for  all  the  Knights  Errant 
in  the  world,  and  for  myself,  I  seem  to  hear  their  arrows 
buzzing  round  my  ears  already.' 

'  Thou  art  by  nature  a  coward,  Sancho,'  replied  Don 
Quixote ;  '  but  that  thou  mayest  not  say  that  I  am 
obstinate,  and  that  I  never  follow  thine  advice,  I  will 
take  thy  counsel  this  time,  and  hide  myself  from  the 
attacks  thou  fearest  so  greatly.    But  it  must  be  on  one 


r 


• 


IN  THE  BROWN  MOUNTAINS  109 

condition,  that  thou  never  tell  to  any  mortal  creature 
that  I  withdrew  myself  out  of  this  danger  for  fear,  but 
only  to  humour  thy  wishes.  For  if  thou  sayest  any- 
thing else  thou  liest.' 

'Sir,'  answered  Sancho  Panza,  'to  retreat  is  not  to 
run  away,  nor  is  it  wise  to  wait  where  there  is  more 
danger  than  hope,  and  it  is  the  part  of  a  wise  man  to 
spend  to-day  in  keeping  himself  safe  for  to-morrow. 
Therefore,  rude  clown  as  I  am,  take  my  advice,  and 
mount  Rozinante  and  follow  me  as  quickly  as  you  are 
able.' 

Don  Quixote  mounted  Rozinante  without  another 
word,  and,  Sancho  leading  the  way  on  his  Ass,  they 
entered  that  part  of  the  Brown  Mountains  that  was 
near  them,  a  favourite  haunt  for  outlaws  and  robbers  in 
those  days,  and  a  spot  where  they  would  be  safe  from 
pursuit.  For  it  was  Sancho's  plan  to  hide  themselves 
for  some  days  among  the  crags,  so  as  not  to  be  found 
even  if  the  Holy  Brotherhood  should  come  and  look 
for  them. 

They  arrived  that  night  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
mountains,  and  there  Sancho  thought  it  best  to  spend 
the  night,  and,  indeed,  as  many  days  as  their  food  lasted  ; 
and  with  this  intention  they  took  up  their  abode  among 
a  number  of  tall  trees  that  grew  between  two  rocks. 

It  happened,  however,  that  Gines  of  Passamonte,  the 
famous  cheat  and  robber  whom  Don  Quixote  by  his 
valour  and  folly  had  released  from  his  chains,  resolved 
to  hide  himself  also  among  the  same  mountains,  and 
destinv  led  him  to  the  very  spot  where  Don  Quixote  and 


no       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

his  Squire  were  hiding,  and  at  the  very  moment  that 
they  had  fallen  asleep,  tired  out  with  the  day's  toil. 
And  as  the  wicked  are  always  ungrateful,  and  necessity 
forces  them  to  evil  deeds,  Gines,  who  was  neither  grate- 
ful nor  good  natured,  resolved  to  rob  Sancho  Panza  of 
his  Ass,  not  caring  for  Rozinante,  as  he  thought  he 
was  not  worth  riding  or  selling.  Sancho  Panza  slept 
soundly,  and,  while  he  slept,  Gines  stole  his  Ass,  and 
before  morning  he  was  so  far  off  as  to  be  past 
finding. 

The  morning  sun  arose  bringing  joy  to  the  earth,  but 
only  grief  to  poor  Sancho,  for  he  missed  his  Dapple, 
and,  finding  himself  deprived  of  him,  he  began  the 
saddest  and  most  doleful  lamentation  possible,  and 
when  Don  Quixote  awoke  he  heard  him  mourning  in 
a  most  melancholy  way,  crying  out  :  '  O  my  beloved 
Ass,  born  in  mine  own  house,  the  sport  of  my  children, 
the  comfort  of  my  wife,  the  envy  of  my  neighbours,  the 
ease  of  my  burdens,  and,  beyond  all,  the  support  of  my 
household,  for  with  what  I  gained  daily  by  thee  did 
I  pay  half  of  mine  expenses  ! ' 

Don  Quixote,  who  heard  this  lament,  and  knew  the 
cause  of  it,  comforted  Sancho  as  best  he  could,  and 
desired  him  to  have  patience,  promising  to  give  him 
a  letter  to  command  those  at  his  house  to  hand  over 
to  him  three  out  of  five  ass  foals  that  he  had  at 
home.  Sancho  was  comforted  by  this,  dried  his  tears, 
moderated  his  sobs,  and  thanked  Don  Quixote  for  the 
favours  he  had  done  him. 

And  as  they  entered  farther  among  the  mountains  the 


IN  THE  BROWN  MOUNTAINS  in 

Knight  felt  glad  at  heart  that  he  had  come  to  a  place  so 
suitable  for  the  adventures  he  was  in  search  of.  They 
reminded  him  of  marvellous  stories  he  had  read  of  what 
had  happened  to  Knights  Errant  in  similar  wild  places, 
and  his  mind  was  so  full  of  these  things  that  he  thought 
of  nothing  else  whatever.  As  for  Sancho,  he  trudged 
behind  his  Master,  loaded  with  the  things  that  his  Ass 
should  have  carried. 

While '  Sancho  was  thus  walking  along,  he  raised 
his  eyes  and  saw  that  his  Master  had  come  to  a  stop, 
and  was  trying  with  the  point  of  his  lance  to  lift  what 
seemed  like  a  bundle  that  was  lying  on  the  ground. 
Upon  which  he  ran  to  see  whether  his  Master  wanted 
his  aid,  and  came  up  to  him  just  as  he  was  lifting  up 
a  saddle  cushion  with  a  portmanteau  fast  to  it.  These 
were  half  rotten  and  falling  to  pieces,  yet  they  weighed 
so  much  that  Sancho's  help  was  required  to  lift  them  up. 
His  Master  ordered  him  to  see  what  was  in  the  portman- 
teau, and  Sancho  obeyed  him  as  quickly  as  might  be. 
And  although  it  was  shut  with  a  chain  and  a  padlock, 
yet  Sancho  could  see  through  the  rents  and  tears  what 
was  inside  it,  namely,  four  fine  Holland  shirts  and  other 
linen  clothes,  both  curious  and  delicate,  besides  a  hand- 
kerchief containing  a  good  quantity  of  gold. 

'  At  last/  cried  Sancho,  1  we  have  met  with  an  adven- 
ture worth  something,'  and  searching  on  he  came  across 
a  little  memorandum  book  very  richly  bound. 

Don  Quixote  asked  him  for  this,  but  bade  him  keep 
the  money  for  himself. 

For  this  rich  favour  Sancho  kissed  his  hands,  and 


ii2       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

taking  all  the  linen,  he  crammed  it  into  their  pro- 
vision-bag. 

Don  Quixote,  having  considered  awhile,  said :  '  Me- 
thinks,  Sancho,  that  some  traveller  having  lost  his  way 
must  have  passed  over  the  mountains,  and  being  met 
by  thieves,  they  slew  him  and  buried  him  in  this  secret 
place/ 

'  It  cannot  be  so/  answered  Sancho,  '  for  if  they  had 
been  thieves  they  would  not  have  left  the  money  behind 
them.' 

'Thou  sayest  true,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'and  therefore 
I  cannot  guess  what  can  have  happened.  But  stay,  we 
will  look  at  the  pocket-book,  and  see  whether  there 
is  anything  written  in  it  by  which  we  may  discover 
what  we  want  to  know.' 

He  opened  it,  and  the  first  thing  he  found  in  it  was  a 
poem,  which  was  all  about  the  author's  love  for  some 
fair  Chloe  who  would  not  care  for  him.  Don  Quixote 
lead  this  aloud  to  Sancho. 

'  Nothing  can  be  learned  from  these  verses/  said  the 
Squire,  'unless  by  that  clue  which  is  there  we  may  get 
some  help.' 

'  What  clue  is  there  here  ? '  said  Don  Quixote. 

'  I  thought  your  Lordship  mentioned  a  clue  there.' 

'  I  did  not  say  clue,  but  Chloe'  replied  Don  Quixote, 
'  which  no  doubt  is  the  name  of  the  lady  of  whom  the 
author  of  this  poem  complains.' 

After  looking  through  the  book  again,  Don  Quixote 
found  a  despairing  love-letter,  and  several  other  verses 
and  letters  full  of  laments  and  misery,  from  which  he 


IN  THE  BROWN  MOUNTAINS 


came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  owner  of  the  book  was 
some  sad  rejected  lover. 

The  Knight  of  the  Rueful  Countenance  was  very 
desirous  to  know  who  was  the  owner  of  the  portman- 
teau, believing  from  what  he  had  seen  that  he  must  be 
a  man  of  some  position,  whom  the  disdain  and  cruelty 
of  a  fair  lady  had  driven  to  desperate  courses.  But  as 
there  was  no  one  in  this  remote  and  solitary  place  to 
satisfy  his  curiosity,  he  rode  on,  taking  any  road  that 
Rozinante  chose,  in  the  firm  belief  that  he  would  find 
some  strange  adventure  among  the  mountains. 

And  as  he  rode  he  saw  a  man  on  top  of  a  little  moun- 
tain, leaping  from  rock  to  rock  and  tuft  to  tuft  with 
marvellous  agility.  He  made  him  out  to  be  half-naked, 
with  a  black  and  matted  beard,  his  hair  lono-  and  tangled, 
his  feet  unshod,  and  his  legs  bare.  He  wore  some 
breeches  of  tawny  velvet,  but  these  appeared  so  torn  to 
rags  that  his  skin  showed  in  many  places.  His  head, 
too,  was  bare,  and  although  he  ran  by  with  all  haste, 
yet  was  the  Knight  able  to  mark  all  these  things.  But 
he  could  not  follow  him,  because  it  was  not  in  Rozinante's 
power,  being  in  a  weak  state  and  naturally  very  slow 
and  steady-going,  to  travel  over  these  rough  places  at 
any  speed.  Don  Quixote  at  once  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  was  the  owner  of  the  portmanteau,  and 
resolved  to  go  in  search  of  him,  even  if  he  should 
have  to  spend  a  whole  year  in  the  mountains  till 
he  found  him.  So  he  commanded  Sancho  to  go  on 
one  side  of  the  mountain,  while  he  went  the  other, 
'and,'  said  he,    'one  of  us   may   thus  come  across 


ii4       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


this  man  who  has  vanished  so  suddenly  out  of  our 
sight.' 

*  I  dare  not  do  so,'  replied  Sancho,  '  for  on  parting  one 
step  from  you,  fear  seizes  me  and  fills  me  with  a  thousand 
kinds  of  terror  and  affright.  Let  me  say,  once  for  all, 
that  henceforth  I  do  not  stir  a  finger's-breadth  from  your 
presence.' 

Well,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  ' 1  am  glad  that  thou 
dost  build  upon  my  valour,  which  shall  not  fail  thee 
even  though  everything  else  fails  thee.  Follow  me, 
then,  and  keep  thine  eyes  open,  so  that  we  may  find 
this  strange  man,  who  is  no  doubt  the  owner  of  the 
portmanteau.' 

'  Surely,'  said  Sancho,  '  it  were  better  not  to  find  him, 
for  if  we  should  meet  him,  and  he  turned  out  to  be  the 
owner  of  the  money,  we  should  have  to  return  it  to  him. 
Let  us  rather  keep  it  faithfully  until  some  one  turns  up  to 
claim  it,  when  perhaps  I  shall  have  spent  it  all,  and  in 
that  case  I  shall  be  free  from  blame.' 

'  In  that  thou  art  mistaken,  Sancho/  replied  Don 
Quixote,  '  for  now  that  we  have  a  suspicion  who  the 
owner  is,  we  are  bound  to  search  him  out  and  restore 
him  his  money.' 

So  saying  Don  Quixote  led  the  way,  and  in  a  little 
time  they  came  upon  a  dead  mule,  half  devoured  by  dogs 
and  crows  ;  and  as  they  were  looking  at  it  they  heard  a 
whistle,  such  as  shepherds  use,  and  there  appeared  at 
their  left  hand  a  great  number  of  goats,  and  behind  them 
on  the  top  of  the  mountain  was  the  Goatherd,  who  was 
quite  an  old  man. 


IN  THE  BROWN  MOUNTAINS  115 

Don  Quixote  called  to  him,  and  begged  him  to 
come  down  to  where  they  stood  ;  and  the  Goatherd, 
after  looking  at  them  for  a  few  minutes,  in  surprise  at 
seeing  them  in  this  lonely  spot,  descended  to  where 
they  stood. 

1  I  wager/  he  said,  as  he  came  towards  them,  '  that 
you  are  wondering  how  the  mule  came  there  that  lies 
dead  in  that  bottom.  Well,  it  has  been  lying  there 
these  six  months.  Tell  me,  have  you  come  across  his 
master  as  yet  ?  ' 

'  We  have  fallen  in  with  nobody,'  replied  Don  Quixote, 
'  but  a  saddle  cushion  and  a  portmanteau,  which  we  found 
not  far  from  here.' 

'  I  have  also  found  the  same  portmanteau,'  said  the 
Goatherd,  '  but  I  would  never  take  it  up  nor  approach  it 
for  fear  some  ill-luck  should  come  upon  me,  or  lest 
some  one  should  accuse  me  of  theft.' 

'  Tell  me,  my  good  fellow,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'do  you 
know  who  is  the  owner  of  these  things  ? ' 

'All  I  can  tell  you  is  this,'  said  the  Goatherd,  'that 
some  six  months  ago,  more  or  less,  there  arrived  at  one 
of  our  sheepfolds,  some  three  leagues  off,  a  young  gentle- 
man of  comely  presence  mounted  on  that  mule  which 
lies  dead  there,  and  with  the  same  saddle  cushion  and 
portmanteau  that  you  have  seen.  He  asked  us  which 
was  the  most  hidden  part  of  the  mountain,  and  we  told 
him  that  this  was,  which  is  certainly  true,  for  if  you  go  a 
league  further  on  perhaps  you  might  not  find,  your  way 
out,  and  indeed  I  marvel  how  you  found  your  way  in  so 
readily.     As  soon  as  the  young  man  had  heard  our 


n6       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

answer  he  turned  his  bridle  and  went  towards  the  place 
we  showed  him,  and  made  towards  these  mountains. 
After  that  we  did  not  see  him  for  a  good  many  days, 
until  one  day,  when  one  of  our  shepherds  came  by  with 
provisions,  he  attacked  him  and  beat  him,  and  carried  off 
all  the  bread  and  cheese  that  he  carried,  and  then  fled 
away  back  again  to  the  mountains.  When  we  heard  of 
this,  some  of  us  goatherds  went  to  look  for  him,  and 
spent  almost  two  days  in  the  most  solitary  places  in  the 
mountains,  and  in  the  end  found  him  lurking  in  the 
hollow  part  of  a  large  cork-tree.  He  came  out  to  us 
very  meekly,  his  clothes  torn  and  his  face  burned  by  the 
sun,  so  that  we  hardly  knew  him  again.  He  saluted  us 
courteously,  and  in  a  few  civil  words  told  us  not  to 
wonder  at  his  condition,  for  he  was  working  out  a 
penance  placed  upon  him  for  the  sins  he  had  committed. 
We  begged  him  to  tell  us  who  he  was,  but  he  would 
not  do  so.  We  begged  him  also  that  when  he  had  need 
of  food  he  would  tell  us  where  we  might  find  him,  and 
we  would  willingly  bring  it  to  him,  and  told  him  there 
was  no  need  to  take  it  by  force.  He  thanked  us  very 
much  for  our  offer,  and  asked  pardon  for  his  violence, 
and  promised  in  future  to  ask  food  of  our  shepherds 
without  giving  annoyance  to  any  one.  But  even  while 
he  was  speaking  to  us,  he  bit  his  lips  and  bent  his 
brows,  and  it  was  clear  some  fit  of  madness  was  upon 
him,  for  he  cried  out  :  "  O  treacherous  Fernando,  here 
thcu  shalt  pay  me  the  injury  thou  didst  me ;  these  hands 
shall  rend  thy  heart ! "  and  many  other  wild  and  whir- 
ring words  which  he  addressed  to  some  Fernando.  But 


IN  THE  BROWN  MOUNTAINS  117 

at  the  same  time  he  fell  upon  one  of  our  goatherds,  and 
we  had  no  little  trouble  to  get  him  away.  Then  without 
another  word  he  fled  to  the  briars  and  the  brambles, 
where  we  could  not  follow  him.  By  this  we  think  that 
he  has  a  madness  which  comes  upon  him  at  times, 
for  sometimes  he  will  take  his  food  from  our  shepherds 
with  courtesy  and  humanity,  at  others  he  seizes  it  by 
force,  though  they  are  ever  willing  to  give  it.  We  have 
thought  to  take  him  by  force  to  the  town  of  Almodavar, 
to  see  if  he  can  be  cured,  or  to  find  out  if  he  has  any 
relatives  to  whom  we  can  restore  him.  This,  Sirs,  is  all 
that  I  can  tell  you  of  what  you  have  asked  me,  and  for 
certain  he  it  is  who  is  the  owner  of  the  things  you  have 
found.' 

Don  Quixote  was  greatly  amazed  by  what  he  had 
heard,  and  determined  to  search  for  him  through  the 
mountains,  without  leaving  a  corner  or  cave  unsought 
until  he  had  found  him. 


The  Story  of  Cardenio 


Fortune  favoured  Don  Quixote  in  his  search  for  the 
strange  owner  of  the  portmanteau,  for,  even  as  he  was, 
speaking  to  the  Goatherd,  he  appeared  at  that  very 
instant  through  a  gorge  of  the  mountain,  murmuring  to 
himself  words  which  one  could  not  have  understood  near 
at  hand,  much  less  afar  off.  His  clothes  were  such  as 
have  been  described,  only  differing  in  this,  that  when  he 
drew  near,  Don  Quixote  noticed  that  he  wore  a  leather 
jerkin,  which,  though  tattered  and  tonj,  was  perfumed 
with  amber.  From  this  he  guessed  that  the  man  who 
wore  such  garments  was  a  person  of  quality.  On  coming 
towards  them,  the  youth  addressed  them  in  a  hoarse 

118 


THE  STORY  OF  CARDENIO  119 

tone  but  with  great  courtesy,  and  Don  Quixote  returned 
his  greetings  with  equal  kindness,  and,  alighting  from 
Rozinante,  went  to  meet  him,  and  clasping  him  in  his 
arms,  embraced  him  as  though  he  had  known  him  for 
a  very  long  time. 

Then  the  stranger,  whom  we  may  call  the  Tattered 
One,  addressed  the  Knight  of  the  Rueful  Countenance 
in  the  following  words  :  1  Truly,  good  Sir,  whoever 
you  may  be,  for  I  know  you  not,  I  thank  you  with  all 
my  heart  for  your  grace  and  courtesy  towards  me,  and 
wish  only  that  I  could  repay  you  some  of  the  kindness 
you  shower  on  me.' 

'  So  great  is  my  desire  to  serve  you,'  replied  Don 
Quixote,  1  that  I  was  fully  resolved  never  to  part  out  of 
these  mountains  until  I  had  found  you,  and  heard  from 
your  own  lips  whether  there  was  any  remedy  for  your 
grief.  For  it  is  a  consolation  in  sorrow  to  have  some 
one  to  condole  with  you.  And  I  entreat  you,  Sir,  tell  me 
who  you  are,  and  what  has  brought  you  to  live  and  die 
in  these  solitudes  like  a  brute  beast.  For  I  swear  by  the 
high  honour  of  Knighthood  which  I  have  received,  that 
if  you  will  tell  me  everything,  I  will  either  help  you  in 
all  good  earnest  to  overcome  your  troubles,  or,  if  that 
cannot  be,  then  I  will  assist  in  lamenting  them/ 

The  Tattered  One  looked  at  Don  Quixote  from  head 
to  foot,  and  stared  at  him  in  amazement  for  a  long  time. 
At  length  he  said  :  '  If  you  have  anything  to  eat,  give  it 
to  me,  and  after  I  have  eaten  I  will  do  all  that  you  ask 
in  return  for  the  kindness  you  show  me/ 

Sancho  and  the  Goatherd  then  gave  him  what  food 


1 


i2o       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


they  had,  and  this  he  devoured  with  the  eagerness  of  a 
wild  beast,  so  that  he  seemed  to  swallow  the  food  rather 
than  chew  it,  and  whilst  he  ate  the  others  left  him  in 
peace.  Having  ended  his  dinner,  he  made  signs  to  them 
to  follow  him,  which  they  did,  and  he  took  them  to  a 
little  meadow  hard  by  that  place  at  the  back  of  the 
mountain. 

Arriving  there  he  laid  himself  down  on  the  grass,  the 
others  doing  the  same,  and  he  began  as  follows  : — 

1  If  it  is  your  pleasure,  Sirs,  to  hear  of  my  misfortunes, 
you  must  promise  me  that  you  will  not  interrupt  the 
thread  of  my  sad  story  by  questions  or  anything  else,  for 
directly  you  do  I  shall  stop  telling  it.' 

Don  Quixote  promised  in  the  name  of  them  all,  and 
the  Tattered  One  commenced  his  story. 

'  My  name  is  Cardenio  ;  the  place  of  my  birth  one  of 
the  best  cities  in  Andalusia ;  my  lineage  noble,  my 
parents  rich,  and  my  misfortunes  so  great  that  I  think  no 
one  was  ever  to  be  pitied  as  I  am.  There  dwelt  in  the 
same  city  wherein  I  was  born  a  damsel  as  noble  and  rich 
as  I  was,  whose  name  was  Lucinda.  I  loved,  honoured, 
and  adored  Lucinda  from  earliest  childhood,  and  she 
loved  me  with  all  the  earnestness  of  youth.  Our  parents 
knew  of  our  love,  and  were  not  sorry  to  see  it,  and  so 
we  grew  up  in  mutual  esteem  and  affection.  Ah !  how- 
many  letters  have  I  written,  and  how  many  verses  have 
I  penned,  and  how  many  songs  has  she  inspired !  At 
length  the  time  came  when  I  could  wait  no  longer,  and 
I  went  to  ask  her  of  her  father  for  my  lawful  wife.  He 
answered  that  he  thanked  me  for  the  desire  I  showed  to 


THE  STORY  OF  CARDENIO 


I  2  I 


honour  him  and  to  honour  myself  with  his  loved  treasure, 
but  that  my  father  being  alive,  it  was  by  strict  right  his 
business  to  make  that  demand.  For  if  it  were  not  done 
with  his  good  will  and '  pleasure,  Lucinda  was  not  the 
woman  to  he  taken  or  given  by  stealth.  I  thanked  him 
for  his  kindness,  and,  feeling  there  was  reason  in  what  he 
said,  I  hurried  to  my  father  to  tell  him  my  desires.  At  the 
moment  I  entered  his  room  he.  was  standing  with  a  letter 
open  in  his  hand,  and  before  I  could  speak  to  him  he 
gave  it  to  me,  saying  as  he  did  so  :  "  By  that  letter, 
Cardenio,  you  may  learn  the  desire  that  the  Duke 
Ricardo  has  to  do  you  favour."  This  Duke  Ricardo,  you 
must  know,  gentlemen,  is  a  Grandee  of  Spain,  whose 
dukedom  is  situated  in  the  best  part  of  all  Andalusia. 
I  took  the  letter  and  read  it,  and  it  was  so  very  kind  that 
it  seemed  to  me  wrong  that  my  father  should  not  do 
what  he  asked.  For  he  wanted  me  as  a  companion — 
not  as  a  servant — to  his  eldest  son,  and  offered  to 
advance  me  in  life  if  he  should  find  me  worthy.  I  read 
the  letter,  and  could  see  that  it  was  no  time  now  to 
speak  to  my  father,  who  said  to  me  :  "  Cardenio,  thou 
must  be  ready  in  two  days  to  depart,  and  to  do  all  that 
the  Duke  desires,  and  be  thankful  that  such  a  future  lies 
open  before  thee." 

1  The  time  for  my  departure  arrived.  I  spoke  to  my 
dear  Lucinda  and  also  to  her  father,  and  begged  him  to 
wait  for  a  while  until  I  knew  what  the  Duke  Ricardo 
wanted  of  me,  and  until  my  future  was  certain.  He 
promised  not  to  bestow  his  daughter  elsewhere,  and  she 
vowed  to  be  always  faithful  to  me,  and  so  I  left. 


122       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

'  I  was  indeed  well  received  by  the  Duke  Ricardo  and 
nobly  treated.  His  elder  son  liked  me  well,  and  was 
kind  to  me,  but  the  one  who  rejoiced  most  at  my  coming- 
was  Fernando,  his  second  son,  a  young  man  who  was 
both  noble,  gallant,  and  very  comely.  In  a  short  time 
he  had  so  made  me  his  friend  that  there  were  no  secrets 
between  us,  and  he  told  me  all  his  thoughts  and  desires, 
and  confided  to  me  a  love  affair  of  his  own  which  caused 
him  much  anxiety. 

'He  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  a  farmer, 
his  father's  vassal,  whose  parents  were  rich,  and  she 
herself  was  beautiful,  modest,  and  virtuous.  But  he  did 
not  dare  to  tell  his  father  of  his  love  because  of  their 
difference  in  rank,  and  though  he  had  promised  to  marry 
this  farmer's  daughter,  he  had  come  to  fear  that  the  Duke 
would  never  consent  to  let  him  carry  out  his  desire.  He 
told  me  that  he  could  find  no  better  mode  of  keeping  the 
remembrance  of  her  beauty  out  of  his  mind,  than  by 
leaving  home  for  some  months  ;  and  he  suggested  that 
we  should  both  depart  for  awhile  to'  my  father's  house, 
under  the  pretence  of  going  to  buy  horses,  for  the  city 
where  I  was  born  was  a  place  where  they  bred  the  best 
horses  in  the  world. 

'  When  I  heard  of  his  wishes  I  did  all  I  could  to 
strengthen  them,  and  urged  him  to  carry  out  his  plan, 
which  offered  me  a  chance  of  seeing  once  more  my  dear 
Lucinda. 

'  At  last  the  Duke  gave  him  leave,  and  ordered  me  to  go 
with  him.  We  arrived  at  my  native  city,  and  my  father 
gave  him  the  reception  due  to  his  rank.    I  again  saw 


THE  STORY  OF  CARDENIO  123 

Lucinda.  My  love  for  her  increased,  though  indeed  it 
had  never  grown  cold,  and  to  my  sorrow  I  told  Don 
Fernando  all  about  it,  for  I  thought  by  the  laws  of 
friendship  it  was  not  right  to  hide  anything  from  him. 
I  described  her  beauty,  her  grace,  and  her  wit,  with 
such  eloquence,  that  my  praises  stirred  in  him  a  desire  to 
see  a  damsel  enriched  by  such  rare  virtues.  To  my 
misfortune  I  yielded  to  his  wish,  and  took  him  with  me 
one  night  to  a  window  where  Lucinda  and  I  were  wont 
to  speak  together.  He  stood  mute,  as  one  beside  him- 
self, and  from  that  moment  he  could  speak  nothing  but 
praises  of  my  Lucinda.  Yet  I  confess  that  I  took  no 
pleasure  in  hearing  her  thus  praised,  because  it  roused 
in  me  a  strange  feeling  of  jealousy.  I  did  not  fear  the 
faith  and  honour  of  Lucinda,  but  at  the  same  time  I  felt 
a  hidden  terror  of  the  future.  Now  Don  Fernando 
continued,  as  my  friend,  to  read  all  the  letters  I  sent  to 
Lucinda,  or  she  to  me,  under  the  pretence  that  he  took 
great  delight  in  the  wit  of  both  of  us,  and  it  fell  out  that 
Lucinda  asked  me  to  send  her  a  book  of  the  Knightly 
Adventures  of  Amadis  of  Gaul.' 

No  sooner  did  Don  Quixote  hear  the  name  of  one  of 
his  favourite  heroes  than  he  interrupted  the  story,  saying: 
'  If,  my  good  Sir,  you  had  told  me  that  your  Lady 
Lucinda  was  a  reader  of  knightly  adventures,  you  need 
not  have  said  anything  else  to  make  me  acknowledge 
her  wit.  Waste  no  further  words  on  her  beauty  and 
worth,  for  now  I  assert  that  from  her  devotion  to  books 
of  Knighthood,  the  Lady  Lucinda  is  the  fairest  and  most 
accomplished  woman  in  all   the  world.     Pardon  my 


i24       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


interruption,  but  when  I  hear  anything  said  of  the  books 
of  Knights  Errant,  I  can  no  more  keep  from  speaking  of 
them  than  the  sunbeams  can  help  giving  forth  warmth. 
Therefore  forgive  me,  and  proceed.' 

While  Don  Quixote  was  speaking,  Cardenio  held  his 
head  down,  his  face  grew  sullen,  and  he  bit  his  lip. 
When  he  looked  up,  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all 
about  his  story,  and  in  a  burst  of  rage  said  :  '  A 
plague  on  all  your  books  of  Knighthood !  Amadis 
was  a  fool,  and  the  Queen  Madasima  was  a  wicked 
woman/ 

1  By  all  that  is  good,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  in  great 
anger — for  this  Queen  was  a  favourite  heroine  of  his — '  it 
is  a  villainy  to  say  such  a  thing.  The  Queen  Madasima 
was  a  very  noble  lady,  and  whoever  says  or  thinks  the 
contrary  lies  like  an  arrant  coward,  and  this  I  will  make 
him  know  a-horseback  or  a-foot,  armed  or  disarmed,  by 
night  or  day,  as  he  liketh  best.' 

Cardenio  stood  gazing  at  Don  Quixote  strangely — for 
now  the  mad  fit  was  on  him — and  hearing  himself  called 
liar  and  coward,  he  caught  up  a  stone  that  was  near  him, 
and  gave  the  Knight  such  a  blow  with  it  that  he  threw 
him  backwards  on  the  ground.  Sancho  Panza,  seeing 
his  Master  so  roughly  handled,  set  upon  the  madman 
with  his  fists,  but  the  Tattered  One  overthrew  him  with 
one  blow  and  trampled  him  under  his  feet  like  dough. 
After  this  he  departed  into  the  wood  very  quietly. 

Sancho  got  up  and  wanted  to  take  vengeance  on  the 
Goatherd,  who,  he  said,  should  have  warned  them  about 
the  madman.    The  Goatherd  declared  he  had  done  so, 


THE  STORY  OF  CARDENIO 


125 


and  Sancho  retorted  that  he  had  not ;  and  from  words 
they  got  to  blows,  and  had  seized  each  other  by  the 
beards,  when  Don  Quixote  parted  them,  saying  that  the 
Goatherd  was  in  no  way  to  blame  for  what  had  happened. 
He  then  again  inquired  where  Cardenio  was  likely  to  be 
found,  and  the  Goatherd  repeated  what  he  had  said  at 
first,  that  his  abode  was  uncertain,  but  that  if  they  went 
much  about  in  those  parts  they  would  be  sure  to  meet 
with  him  either  mad  or  sane. 


126      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Of  the  Strange  Adventures  that  happened  to  the 
Knight  of  the  Mancha  in  the  Brown  Mountains, 
and  of  the  Penance  he  did  there  in 
imitation  of  Beltenebros 

Don  Quixote  took  leave  of  the  Goatherd,  and,  mounting 
•once  again  on  Rozinante,  he  commanded  Sancho  to 
follow  him,  who  obeyed,  but  with  a  very  ill  will.  They 
travelled  slowly,  entering  the  thickest  and  roughest  part 
of  the  mountains,  and  at  last  Sancho  Panza,  who  was 
growing  very  impatient,  burst  out :  '  Good  Sir  Don 
Quixote,  let  me  speak  what  is  on  my  mind,  for  it  is 
a  hard  thing  to  go  about  looking  for  adventures  all  one's 
life,  and  find  nothing  but  tramplings  under  the  feet, 
and  tossings  in  blankets,  and  stoning,  and  blows,  and 
buffets.' 

'  Speak  on,'  replied  his  Master,  '  for  I  will  hear  what 
thou  hast  to  say.' 

'  Then,'  replied  Sancho,  '  I  would  know  what  benefit 
your  Worship  could  reap  by  taking  the  part  of  the 
Queen  Magimasas,  or  whatever  you  call  her.  For  if 
you  had  let  it  pass,  I  believe  the  madman  would  have 
finished  his  tale,  and  I  should  have  escaped  a  beating.' 


IN  THE  BROWN  MOUNTAINS  127 

'In  faith,  Sancho,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  'if  thou 
k newest  as  well  as  I  do,  how  honourable  a  lady  was 
Queen  Madasima,  thou  wouldst  rather  say  I  behaved 
with  great  patience.  Cardenio  knew  not  what  he  was 
saying  to  call  her  wicked,  and  must  have  been  out  of  his 
senses/ 

'So  say  I,'  said  Sancho,  'and  you  ought  not  to  take 
notice  of  the  words  of  a  madman.' 

'  Against  sane  and  mad,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  '  is 
every  Knight  Errant  bound  to  stand  up  for  the  honour 
of  women,  whoever  they  may  be.  Be  silent,  therefore, 
and  meddle  not  with  what  does  not  concern  thee. 
Understand  that  all  I  do  is  guided  by  the  rules  of 
Knighthood,  which  are  better  known  to  me  than  to  any 
Knight  that  ever  lived.' 

'  Sir ! '  replied  Sancho,  '  is  there  any  rule  of  Knight- 
hood which  obliges  us  to  wander  among  the  mountains 
looking  for  a  madman,  who,  if  he  is  found,  will  probably 
break  our  heads  again  ? ' 

'  Peace,  I  say,  Sancho,  once  again ! '  exclaimed  Don 
Quixote,  '  for  thou  must  know  that  it  is  not  only  the 
desire  of  finding  the  madman  that  brings  me  into  these 
wilds,  but  because  I  have  in  mind  to  carry  out  an  ad- 
venture that  shall  bring  me  eternal  fame  and  renown 
over  the  whole  face  of  the  earth.' 

'  Is  it  a  dangerous  adventure  ? '  asked  Sancho. 

'That  is  according  as  it  turns  out,'  replied  Don 
Quixote.  '  But  I  will  keep  you  no  longer  in  the  dark 
about  it.  You  must  know  that  Amadis  of  Gaul  was 
the  most  perfect  of  all  the  Knights  Errant.    And  as 


128       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

he  was  the  morning  star  and  the  sun  of  all  valiant 
Knights,  so  am  I  wise  in  imitating  all  he  did.  And 
I  remember  that  when  his  Lady  Oriana  disdained  his 
love,  he  showed  his  wisdom,  virtue,  and  manhood  by 
changing  his  name  to  Beltenebros  and  retiring  to  a  wild 
country,  there  to  perform  a  penance.  And  as  I  may 
more  easily  imitate  him  in  this  than  in  slaying  giants, 
beheading  serpents,  killing  monsters,  destroying  armies, 
and  putting  navies  to  flight,  and  because  this  mountain 
seems  to  fit  for  the  purpose,  I  intend  myself  to  do 
penance  here.' 

'  But  what  is  it  that  your  Worship  intends  to  do  in 
this  out  of  the  way  spot  ? '  asked  Sancho. 

'  Have  not  I  told  thee  already,'  replied  his  Master, 
'  that  I  mean  to  copy  Amadis  of  Gaul,  by  acting  here  the 
part  of  a  despairing,  mad,  and  furious  lover  ? ' 

'I  believe,'  continued  Sancho,  'that  the  Knights  who 
went  through  these  penances  must  have  had  some  reason 
for  so  doing,  but  what  cause  has  your  Worship  for 
going  mad  ?  What  Lady  hath  disdained  you  ?  How 
has  the  Lady  Dulcinea  of  Toboso  ever  treated  you 
unkindly  ? ' 

'  That  is  just  the  point  of  it,'  said  Don  Quixote  ;  'for 
a  Knight  Errant  to  go  mad  for  good  reason  has  no 
merit  in  it,  but  the  whole  kernel  of  the  matter  is  to 
go  mad  without  a  cause.  Therefore,  Sancho,  waste  no 
more  time,  for  mad  I  am,  and  mad  I  shall  remain,  until 
thou  return  again  with  the  answer  to  a  letter  which  I 
mean  to  send  with  thee  to  my  Lady  Dulcinea.  If  the 
answer  is  such  as  I  deserve,  my  penance  will  end,  but 


IN  THE  BROWN  MOUNTAINS  129 

if  the  contrary,  I  shall  run  mad  in  good  earnest.  But 
tell  me,  Sancho,  hast  thou  kept  safely  the  helmet  of 
Mambrino  ? ' 

1  Really,  Sir  Knight,'  answered  Sancho,  '  I  cannot 
listen  patiently  to  some  things  your  Worship  says,  and 
I  sometimes  think  all  you  tell  me  of  Knighthood  is 
nothing  but  a  pack  of  lies.  For  to  hear  your  Worship 
say  that  a  barber's  basin  is  Mambrino's  helmet,  and  not 
to  find  out  your  mistake  in  four  days,  makes  one  wonder 
whether  one  is  standing  on  one's  head  or  one's  heels. 
I  carry  the  basin  right  enough  in  my  baggage,  all 
battered  and  dented,  and  intend  to  take  it  home  and 
put  it  to  rights,  and  soap  my  beard  in  it  when  I  return 
to  my  wife  and  children.' 

'  Ah,  Sancho,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  '  I  think  that 
thou  hast  the  shallowest  pate  that  ever  any  Squire  had 
or  hath  in  this  world.  Is  it  possible  thou  hast  so  long 
travelled  with  me  and  not  found  out  that  all  the  adven- 
tures of  Knights  Errant  appear  illusions,  follies,  and 
dreams,  and  turn  out  all  contrariwise  ?  So  this  that  thou 
callest  a  barber's  basin  is  to  me  Mambrino's  helmet,  and 
to  another  person  has  some  other  shape  altogether. 
Not  that  it  has  all  these  shapes,  but  these  things  are  the 
work  of  wicked  enchanters  or  magicians,  who  transform 
everything,  making  things  seem  what  they  please  in 
order  to  annoy  us.' 

By  this  time  they  had  arrived  at  the  foot  of  a  lofty 
mountain,  which  stood  like  a  huge  rock  apart  from  all 
the  rest.  Close  by  glided  a  smooth  river,  hemmed  in 
on  every  side  by  a  green  and  fertile  meadow.  Around 

1 


i3o       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


were  many  fine  trees  and  plants  and  flowers,  which 
made  the  spot  a  most  delightful  one. 

'  Here ! '  cried  Don  Quixote  in  a  loud  voice,  '  I  elect 
to  do  my  penance.  Here  shall  the  tears  from  my  eyes 
swell  the  limpid  streams,  and  here  shall  the  sighs  of 
my  heart  stir  the  leaves  of  every  mountain  tree.  O 
Dulcinea  of  Toboso,  day  of  my  night  and  star  of  my 
fortunes,  consider  the  pass  to  which  I  am  come,  and 
return  a  favourable  answer  to  my  wishes ! ' 

With  this  he  alighted  from  Rozinante,  and,  taking  off 
his  saddle  and  bridle,  gave  him  a  slap  on  his  haunches, 
and  said  :  '  He  gives  thee  liberty  that  wants  it  himself, 
O  steed,  famous  for  thy  swiftness  and  the  great  works 
thou  hast  done  ! ' 

When  Sancho  heard  all  this  he  could  not  help  say- 
ing :  '  I  wish  Dapple  were  here,  for  he  deserves  at  least 
as  long  a  speech  in  his  praise  ;  but  truly,  Sir  Knight, 
if  my  journey  with  your  letter,  and  your  penance  here, 
are  really  to  take  place,  it  would  be  better  to  saddle 
Rozinante  again,  that  he  may  supply  the  want  of  mine 
Ass/ 

'As  thou  likest  about  that,'  said  Don  Quixote;  'but 
thou  must  not  depart  for  three  days  as  yet,  during 
which  time  thou  shalt  see  what  I  will  say  and  do  for 
my  Lady's  sake,  that  thou  mayest  tell  her  all  about  it.' 

'  But  what  more  can  I  see,'  asked  Sancho,  '  than 
what  I  have  already  seen  ? ' 

'Thou  art  well  up  in  the  matter,  certainly,'  replied 
his  Master,  '  for  as  yet  I  have  done  nothing,  and  if  I 
am  to  be  a  despairing  lover,  I  must  tear  my  clothes,  and 


IN  THE  BROWN  MOUNTAINS 


throw  away  mine  armour,  and  beat  my  head  against 
these  rocks,  with  many  other  things  that  shall  make  thee 
marvel.' 

*  For  goodness'  sake,'  cried  Sancho,  'take  care  how 
you  go  knocking  your  head  against  rocks,  for  you  might 
happen  to  come  up  against  so  ungracious  a  rock  that  it 
would  put  an  end  to  the  penance  altogether.  If  the 
knocks  on  the  head  are  necessary,  I  should  content 
yourself,  seeing  that  this  madness  is  all  make-believe, 
with  striking  your  head  on  some  softer  thing,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  me,  for  I  will  tell  your  Lady  that  I  saw  you 
strike  your  head  on  the  point  of  a  rock  that  was  harder 
than  a  diamond.' 

1  I  thank  thee,  Sancho,  for  thy  good  will,'  replied  the 
Knight,  '  but  the  rules  of  Knighthood  forbid  me  to  act 
or  to  speak  a  lie,  and  therefore  the  knocks  of  the  head 
must  be  real  solid  knocks,  and  it  will  be  necessary 
for  thee  to  leave  me  some  lint  to  cure  them,  see- 
ing that  fortune  has  deprived  us  of  that  precious 
Balsam.' 

'  It  was  worse  to  lose  the  Ass,'  said  Sancho,  'seeing 
that  with  him  we  lost  lint  and  everything  ;  but  pray, 
your  Worship,  never  mention  that  horrible  Balsam 
again,  for  the  very  name  of  it  nearly  turns  me  inside 
out.  And  now  write  your  letter,  and  let  me  saddle 
Rozinante  and  begone,  for  I  warrant  when  I  once  get  to 
Toboso  I  will  tell  the  Lady  Dulcinea  such  strange 
things  of  your  follies  and  madness,  that  I  shall  make 
her  as  soft  as  a  glove  even  though  I  find  her  harder 
than  a  cork-tree.     And  with  her  sweet  and  honied 


i32       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


answer  I  will  return  as  speedily  as  a  witch  on  a  broom- 
stick, and  release  you  from  your  penance.' 

'  But  how  shall  we  write  a  letter  here  ? '  said  Don 
Quixote. 

'  And  how  can  you  write  the  order  for  the  handing 
over  to  me  of  the  ass-colts  ?  '  asked  Sancho. 

'  Seeing"  there  is  no  paper,'  said  the  Knight,  6  we 
might,  like  the  ancients,  write  on  waxen  tablets,  but  that 
wax  is  as  hard  to  find  as  paper.  But  now  that  I  come 
to  think  of  it,  there  is  Cardenio's  pocket-book.  I  will 
write  on  that,  and  thou  shalt  have  the  matter  of  it 
written  out  in  a  good  round  hand  at  the  first  village 
wherein  thou  shalt  find  a  schoolmaster.' 

'  But  what  is  to  be  done  about  the  signature  ?  '  asked 
Sancho. 

'  The  letters  of  Amadis  were  never  signed,'  replied 
Don  Quixote. 

'That  is  all  very  well,'  said  Sancho,  'but  the  paper 
for  the  three  asses  must  be  signed,  for  if  it  be  copied  out 
they  shall  say  it  is  false,  and  then  I  shall  not  get  the 
ass-colts.' 

'  Well,  then,  the  order  for  the  ass-colts  shall  be  signed 
in  the  book,'  said  Don  Quixote  ;  '  and  as  for  the  love- 
letter,  thou  shalt  put  this  ending  to  it,  "Yours  till 
death,  the  Knight  of  the  Rueful  Countenance."  And  it 
will  be  no  great  matter  that  it  goes  in  a  strange  hand, 
for  as  well  as  I  remember  Dulcinea  can  neither  read  nor 
write,  nor  has  she  ever  seen  my  handwriting.  For 
indeed,  during  the  twelve  years  I  have  been  loving  her 
more  dearly  than  the  light  of  my  eyes,  I  have  only 


IN  THE  BROWN  MOUNTAINS  133 

seen  her  four  times,  and  I  doubt  if  she  hath  ever  noticed 
me  at  all,  so  closely  have  her  father  Lorenzo  Corchuelo, 
and  her  mother  Aldonza  brought  her  up.' 

'  Ha !  ha ! '  cried  Sancho,  '  then  the  Lady  Dulcinea 
of  Toboso  is  the  daughter  of  Lorenzo  Corchuelo,  and  is 
called  Aldonza  Corchuelo  ? ' 

'That  is  she,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'and  a  lady  worthy 
to  be  the  Empress  of  this  wide  universe/ 

'  I  know  her  very  well,'  replied  Sancho,  'and  can  tell 
you  that  she  can  throw  an  iron  bar  with  the  strongest 
lad  in  our  village.  She  is  a  girl  of  mettle,  tall  and 
stout,  and  a  sturdy  lass  that  can  hold  her  own  with 
any  Knight' Errant  in  the  world.  Out  upon  her,  what 
an  arm  she  hath !  Why,  I  saw  her  one  day  stand  on 
top  of  the  church  belfry,  to  call  her  father's  servants 
from  the  fields,  and,  though  they  were  half  a  league  off, 
they  heard  her  as  though  she  were  in  the  next  field  ;  and 
the  best  of  her  is  there  is  nothing  coy  about  her,  but 
she  jokes  with  all  and  makes  game  and  jest  of  every- 
body. To  be  frank  with  you,  Sir  Don  Quixote,  I 
have  been  living  under  a  great  mistake,  for,  really  and 
truly,  I  thought  all  this  while  that  the  Lady  Dulcinea 
was  some  great  Princess  with  whom  your  Worship  was 
in  love.' 

'I  have  told  thee,  Sancho,  many  times  before  now,' 
said  Don  Quixote,  '  that  thou  art  a  very  great  babbler. 
Understand,  then,  that  my  Lady  Dulcinea  is  to  me  as 
good  and  beautiful  as  any  Princess  in  the  world,  and 
that  is  enough.' 

With  these  words  he  took  out  the  pocket-book,  and, 


i34       THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

going  aside,  began  to  write  with  great  gravity.  When 
he  had  ended,  he  called  Sancho  to  him  and  read  him  the 
following  letter  : — 

'Sovereign  Lady, 

'The  sore  wounded  one,  O  sweetest  Dulcinea  of 
Toboso,  sends  thee  the  health  which  he  wants  him- 
self. If  thy  beauty  disdain  me,  I  cannot  live.  My 
good  Squire  Sancho  will  give  thee  ample  account,  O 
ungrateful  fair  one,  of  the  penance  I  do  for  love  of  thee. 
Should  it  be  thy  pleasure  to  favour  me,  I  am  thine.  If 
not,  by  ending  my  life  I  shall  satisfy  both  thy  cruelty 
and  my  desires. 

'  Thine  until  death, 

'  The  Knight  of  the  Rueful  Countenance.' 

*  By  my  fathers  life,'  said  Sancho,  '  it  is  the  noblest 
thing  that  ever  I  heard  in  my  life  ;  and  now  will  your 
Worship  write  the  order  for  the  three  ass-colts  ? ' 

'With  pleasure/  answered  Don  Quixote,  and  he  did 
as  he  was  desired. 

*  And  now,'  said  Sancho,  '  let  me  saddle  Rozinante 
and  be  off.  For  I  intend  to  start  without  waiting  to 
see  those  mad  pranks  your  Worship  is  going  to  play. 
There  is  one  thing  I  am  afraid  of,  though,  and  that  is, 
that  on  my  return  I  shall  not  be  able  to  find  the  place 
where  I  leave  you.  it  is  so  wild  and  difficult/ 

'  Take  the  marks  well,  and  when  thou  shouldst  return- 
I  will  mount  to  the  tops  of  the  highest  rocks.  Also  it 
will  be  well  to  cut  down  some  boughs  and  strew  them 


IN  THE  BROWN  MOUNTAINS 


135 


after  you  as  you  go,  that  they  may  serve  as  marks  to 
find  your  way  back,  like  the  clue  in  Theseus'  labyrinth.' 

Sancho  did  this,  and,  not  heeding  his  Master's  request 
to  stay  and  see  him  go  through  some  mad  tricks  in 
order  that  he  might  describe  them  to  Dulcinea,  he 
mounted  Rozinante  and  rode  away. 

He  had  not  got  more  than  a  hundred  paces  when  he 
returned  and  said:  'Sir,  what  you  said  was  true,  and 
it  would  be  better  for  my  conscience  if  I  saw  the  follies 
you  are  about  to  do  before  I  describe  them  to  your 
Lady.' 

'  Did  I  not  tell  thee  so  ?  '  said  Don  Quixote  ;  '  wait  but 
a  minute.' 

Then  stripping  himself  in  all  haste  of  most  of  his 
clothes,  Don  Quixote  began  cutting  capers  and  turning 
somersaults  in  his  shirt  tails,  until  even  Sancho  was 
satisfied  that  he  might  truthfully  tell  the  Lady  Dulcinea 
that  her  lover  was  mad,  and  so,  turning  away,  he  started 
in  good  earnest  upon  his  journey. 


J 


THE  CURATE 
5c  THE  BARBER 
IN  DISGUISE* 


CHAPTER  XVII 


Of  Sancho's  Journey  to  the  Lady  Dulcinea 

Don  Quixote,  left  to  himself,  climbed  to  the  top  of  a 
high  mountain,  and  spent  his  days  making  poems  about 
the  beautiful  Dulcinea,  which  he  recited  to  the  rocks 
and  trees  around  him.  In  this,  and  in  calling  upon  the 
nymphs  of  the  streams,  and  the  satyrs  of  the  woods, 
to  hear  his  cries,  did  he  pass  his  time  while  Sancho  was 
away. 

As  for  his  Squire,  turning  out  on  the  highway,  he 
took  the  road  which  led  to  Toboso,  and  arrived  the  next 
day  at  the  Inn  where  he  had  been  tossed  in  a  blanket. 
He  no  sooner  saw  it  than  he  imagined  that  he  was  once 
again  flying  through  the  air,  and  he  half  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  would  not  enter  the  Inn,  although  it  was 

136 


SANCHO'S  JOURNEY 


i37 


rk-W  dinner-hour  and  he  felt  a  marvellous  longing  to 
taste  some  cooked  meat  again,  as  he  had  eaten  nothing 
but  cold  fare  for  a  good  many  days. 

This  longing-  made  him  draw  near  to  the  Inn,  remain- 
in  or  still  in  some  doubt  as  to  whether  he  should  enter  it 
or  not. 

As  he  stood  musing,  there  came  out  of  the  Inn  two 
persons  who  recognised  him  at  once,  and  the  one  said  to 
the  other  :  '  Tell  me,  Sir  Curate,  is  not  that  horseman 
riding  there  Sancho  Panza,  who  departed  with  Don 
Quixote  to  be  his  Squire  ? ' 

'It  is,'  said  the  Curate,  '  and  that  is  Don  Quixote's 
horse.' 

They  knew  him  well  enough,  for  they  were  Don 
Quixote's  friends,  the  Curate  and  the  Barber,  who  not 
so  long  ago  had  helped  to  burn  his  books  and  wall  up 
his  library  ;  so,  wanting  to  learn  news  of  Don  Quixote, 
they  went  up  to  him  and  said  :  '  Friend  Sancho  Panza, 
where  have  you  left  your  Master?' 

Sancho  Panza  knew  them  instantly,  but  wanted  to 
conceal  the  place  and  manner  in  which  the  Knight 
remained,  and  answered  that  his  Master  was  kept  in  a 
certain  place  by  affairs  of  the  greatest  importance  of 
which  he  must  say  nothing. 

'  That  will  not  do,  friend  Sancho,'  said  the  Barber. 
'If  thou  dost  not  tell  us  where  he  is,  we  shall  believe 
that  thou  hast  robbed  and  slain  him,  seeing  that  thou  art 
riding  his  horse.  Verily  thou  must  find  us  the  owner  of 
the  steed,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  thee.' 

'  Your  threats  do  not  trouble  me,  for  I  am  not  one 


138      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


who  would  rob  or  murder  anybody,  and,  for  my  Master, 
he  is  enjoying  himself  doing  penance  in  the  Brown 
Mountains,  where  I  have  just  left  him.' 

Then  Sancho  told  them  from  beginning  to  end  how 
his  Master  was  carrying  out  his  penance,  and  of  the  mad 
pranks  he  intended  to  perform,  and  how  he,  Sancho,  was 
bearing  a  letter  to  the  Lady  Dulcinea  of  Toboso,  who 
was  none  other  than  the  daughter  of  Lorenzo  Corchuelo, 
with  whom  the  Knight  was  head  and  ears  in  love. 

Both  of  them  were  amazed  at  what  they  heard, 
although  they  knew  something  of  Don  Quixote's  mad- 
ness already.  They  asked  Sancho  to  show  them  the 
letter  he  was  carrying  to  the  Lady  Dulcinea.  Sancho 
told  them  it  was  written  in  the  pocket-book,  and  that  he 
was  ordered  to  get  it  copied  out  at  the  first  village  he 
came  to. 

The  Curate  told  him  that  if  he  would  show  it  to  them, 
he  would  make  a  fair  copy  of  it  for  him.  Then  Sancho 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  bosom  to  search  for  the  little 
book,  but  he  could  not  find  it,  nor  would  he  have  found 
it  if  he  had  hunted  until  Doomsday,  for  he  had  left  it 
with  Don  Quixote,  who  had  quite  forgotten  to  give  it  to 
him,  nor  had  he  remembered  to  ask  for  it  when  he  came 
away.  When  Sancho  discovered  that  the  book  was 
lost,  his  face  grew  as  pale  as  death,  and  feeling  all  over 
his  body  he  saw  clearly  that  it  was  not  to  be  found. 
Without  more  ado  he  laid  hold  of  his  beard,  and  with 
both  his  fists  plucked  out  half  his  hair  and  gave  himself 
half  a  dozen  blows  about  his  face  and  nose,  so  that  he 
was  soon  bathed  in  his  own  blood. 


SANCHO'S  JOURNEY  139 

Seeing  this,  the  Curate  and  the  Barber  asked  him 
what  was  the  matter,  that  he  should  treat  himself  so  ill. 

'What  is  the  matter?'  cried  poor  Sancho.  'Why,  I 
have  let  slip  through  my  fingers  three  of  the  finest  ass- 
colts  you  ever  saw.' 

■  How  so  ? '  asked  the  Barber. 

'  Why,  I  have  lost  the  pocket-book,'  replied  Sancho, 
'  which  had  in  it  not  only  the  letter  for  Dulcinea,  but  also 
a  note  of  hand  signed  by  my  Master  addressed  to  his 
Niece,  ordering  her  to  give  me  three  ass-colts  of  the 
four  or  five  that  were  left  at  his  house.'  So  saying,  he 
told  them  the  story  of  his  lost  Dapple. 

The  Curate  comforted  him  by  telling  him  that  as  soon 
as  they  had  found  his  Master  they  would  get  him  to 
write  out  the  paper  again  in  proper  form.  With  this 
Sancho  took  courage,  and  said  if  that  could  be  done 
all  would  be  right,  for  he  cared  not  much  for  the  loss 
of  Dulcinea's  letter  as  he  knew  it  by  heart. 

'  Say  it  then,  Sancho,'  said  the  Barber,  'and  we  will 
write  it  out.' 

Then  Sancho  stood  still  and  began  to  scratch  his  head 
and  try  to  call  the  letter  to  memory.  He  stood  first 
on  one  leg  and  then  on  the  other,  and  looked  first  to 
heaven  and  then  to  earth,  while  he  gnawed  off  half  his 
nails,  and  at  the  end  of  a  long  pause  said  :  '  I  doubt  if  I 
can  remember  all,  but  it  began,  "  High  and  unsavoury 
Lady.'" ' 

'  I  warrant  you,'  interrupted  the  Barber,  1  it  was  not 
"  unsavoury  "  but  "  sovereign  Lady."  ' 

'  So  it  was,'  cried  Sancho  ;  '  and  then  there  was  some- 


i4o      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


thing  about  the  wounded  one  sending  health  and  sickness 
and  what  not  to  the  ungrateful  fair,  and  so  it  scrambled 
along  until  it  ended  in  "  Yours  till  death,  the  Knight  of 
the  Rueful  Countenance."' 

They  were  both  much  amused  at  Sancho's  good 
memory,  and  praised  it  highly,  asking  him  to  repeat  the 
letter  once  or  twice  more  to  them,  so  that  they  might  be 
able  to  write  it  down  when  they  got  a  chance.  Three 
times  did  Sancho  repeat  it,  and  each  time  he  made  as 
many  new  mistakes.  Then  he  told  them  other  things 
about  his  Master,  but  never  a  word  about  being  tossed 
in  a  blanket,  although  he  refused,  without  giving  any 
reason,  to  enter  the  Inn,  though  he  begged  them  to  bring 
him  something  nice  and  hot  to  eat,  and  some  barley 
for  Rozinante,  when  they  had  finished  their  own  repast. 

With  that  they  went  into  the  Inn,  and  after  a  while 
the  Curate  brought  him  some  meat,  which  Sancho  was 
very  glad  to  see. 

Now  whilst  the  Curate  and  the  Barber  were  in  the 
Inn  they  discussed  together  the  best  means  of  bringing 
Don  Quixote  back  to  his  home,  and  the  Curate  hit  upon 
a  plan  which  fitted  in  well  with  Don  Quixote's  humour, 
and  seemed  likely  to  be  successful.  This  plan  was,  as 
he  told  the  Barber,  to  dress  himself  like  a  wandering 
damsel,  while  the  Barber  took  the  part  of  her  Squire, 
and  in  this  disguise  they  were  to  go  to  where  Don 
Quixote  was  undergoing  his  penance,  and  the  Curate, 
pretending  that  he  was  an  afflicted  and  sorely  distressed 
damsel,  was  to  demand  of  him  a  boon,  which  as  a  valiant 
Knight  Errant  he  could  not  refuse. 


SANCHO'S  JOURNEY 


141 


The  service  which  the  damsel  was  to  ask  was  that 
Don  Quixote  would  follow  her  where  she  should  lead 
him,  to  right  a  wrong  which  some  wicked  Knight  had 
done  her.  Besides  this,  she  was  to  pray  him  not  to 
command  her  to  unveil  herself  or  inquire  as  to  her 
condition,  until  he  had  done  her  right  against  the  wicked 
Knight.  And  thus  they  hoped  to  lead  Don  Quixote 
back  to  his  own  village,  and  afterwards  to  cure  him  of 
his  mad  ideas. 

The  Curate's  notion  pleased  the  Barber  well,  and  they 
resolved  to  carry  it  out.  They  borrowed  of  the  Inn- 
keeper's wife  a  gown  and  a  head-dress,  leaving  with  her 
in  exchange  the  Curate's  new  cassock.  The  Barber 
made  for  himself  a  great  beard  of  a  red  ox's  tail  in  which 
the  Innkeeper  used  to  hang  his  horse-comb. 

The  Innkeeper's  wife  asked  them  what  they  wanted 
these  things  for,  and  the  Curate  told  her  shortly  all 
about  Don  Quixote's  madness,  and  how  this  disguise 
was  necessary  to  bring  him  away  from  the  mountains 
where  he  had  taken  up  his  abode. 

The  Innkeeper  and  his  wife  then  remembered  all 
about  their  strange  guest,  and  told  the  Barber  and  the 
Curate  all  about  him  and  his  Balsam,  and  how  Sancho 
had  fared  with  the  blanket.  Then  the  Innkeeper's  wife 
dressed  up  the  Curate  so  cleverly  that  it  could  not  have 
been  better  done.  She  attired  him  in  a  stuff  gown 
with  bands  of  black  velvet  several  inches  broad,  and  a 
bodice  and  sleeves  of  green  velvet  trimmed  with  white 
satin,  both  of  which  might  have  been  made  in  the  days 
of  the  Flood.    The  Curate  would  not  consent  to  wear  a 


i42      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


head-dress  like  a  woman's,  but  put  on  a  white  quilted 
linen  nightcap,  which  he  carried  to  sleep  in.  Then 
with  two  strips  of  black  stuff  he  made  himself  a  mask 
and  fixed  it  on,  and  this  covered  his  face  and  beard  very 
neatly.  He  then  put  on  his  large  hat,  and,  wrapping 
himself  in  his  cloak,  seated  himself  like  a  woman  side- 
ways on  his  mule,  whilst  the  Barber  mounted  his,  with 
a  beard  reaching  down  to  his  girdle,  made,  as  was  said, 
from  a  red  ox's  tail. 

They  now  took  their  leave,  and  all  at  the  Inn  wished 
them  a  good  success  ;  but  they  had  not  gone  very  far 
when  the  Curate  began  to  dread  that  he  was  not  doing- 
right  in  dressing  up  as  a  woman  and  gadding  about  in 
such  a  costume,  even  on  so  good  an  errand.  He  therefore 
proposed  to  the  Barber  that  he  should  be  the  distressed 
damsel,  and  he,  the  Curate,  would  take  the  part  of  the 
Squire  and  teach  him  what  to  say  and  how  to  behave. 
Sancho  now  came  up  to  them,  and,  seeing  them  in  their 
strange  dresses,  could  not  contain  his  laughter. 

The  Curate  soon  threw  off  his  disguise,  and  the  Barber 
did  the  same,  and  both  resolved  not  to  dress  up  any 
more  until  they  should  come  nearer  to  Don  Quixote, 
when  the  Barber  should  be  the  distressed  damsel  and 
the  Curate  should  be  the  Squire. 

Then  they  pursued  their  journey  towards  the  Brown 
Mountains,  guided  by  Sancho,  to  whom  they  explained 
that  it  was  necessary  that  his  Master  should  be  led  away 
from  his  penance,  if  he  was  ever  to  become  an  Emperor 
and  be  in  a  position  to  give  Sancho  his  desired  Island. 


The  Story  of  Cardenio  continued 


The  next  day  they  arrived  at  the  place  where  Sancho 
had  left  the  boughs  strewn  along  his  path,  and  there  he 
told  them  they  were  near  to  Don  Quixote,  and  that  they 
had  better  get  dressed.  For  they  had  told  Sancho  part 
of  their  plan  to  take  away  his  Master  from  this  wretched 
penance  he  was  performing,  and  warned  him  not  to  tell 
the  Knight  who  they  were.  They  also  said  that  if  Don 
Quixote  asked,  as  they  were  sure  he  would,  whether  he 
had  delivered  his  letter  to  Dulcinea,  he  was  to  say  that 
he  had  done  so  ;  but  as  his  Lady  could  not  read,  she  had 
sent  a  message  that  he  was  to  return  to  her.  Sancho 
listened  to  all  this  talk,  and  said  he  would  remember 
everything,  for  he  was  anxious  that  his  Master  should 

143 


i44      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


give  up  penances  and  go  forth  again  in  search  oflslands. 
He  also  suggested  that  it  were  best  he  should  go  on  in 
advance,  as  perhaps  the  message  from  Dulcinea  would 
of  itself  be  enough  to  bring  Don  Quixote  away  from  the 
mountains. 

With  that,  Sancho  went  off  into  the  mountain  gorges, 
leaving  the  other  two  behind  by  a  stream  overhung  with 
pleasant  trees  and  rocks. 

It  was  one  of  the  hottest  days  of  August,  when  in 
those  parts  the  heat  is  very  great,  and  it  was  about  three 
in  the  afternoon  when  Sancho  left  them.  The  two  were 
resting  in  the  shade  at  their  ease  when  they  heard  the 
sound  of  a  voice,  not  accompanied  by  any  instrument, 
but  singing  very  sweetly  and  melodiously.  The  song 
surprised  them  not  a  little,  for  this  did  not  seem  the 
place  in  which  to  find  so  good  a  singer. 

The  singer  finished  his  song,  and  the  Barber  and 
Curate,  in  wonder  and  delight,  listened  for  more.  But  as 
silence  continued,  they  agreed  to  go  in  search  of  this 
strange  musician.  As  they  were  moving  away  he  again 
burst  into  song,  and  at  the  end  of  this,  uttered  a  deep 
sigh,  and  the  music  was  changed  into  sobs  and  heart- 
rending moans. 

They  had  not  gone  far  in  their  search  when,  in  turning 
the  corner  of  a  rock,  they  saw  a  man  of  the  same  figure 
that  Sancho  had  described  to  them  when  he  had  told 
them  the  story  of  Cardenio.  The  Curate  at  once  went 
up  to  him,  and  in  a  kindly  manner  begged  him  to  quit 
this  wretched,  wandering  life,  lest  he  should  perish  among 
the  mountains. 


THE  STORY  OF  CARDENIO  145 

Carclenio,  who  was  in  his  right  mind  at  this  time,  and 
quite  free  from  his  mad  fit,  replied  :  'Whoever  you  may 
be,  good  Sirs,  I  see  clearly  that,  unworthy  as  I  am,  there 
are  yet  human  beings  who  would  show  me  kindness  by 
persuading  me  to  live  in  some  better  place  ;  and  I  know 
myself  how  this  terrible  madness  masters  me,  and  many 
blame  my  outrageous  conduct  rather  than  pity  my  mis- 
fortunes. But  if  you  will  listen  to  my  story,  you  will 
know  why  I  have  been  driven  here,  what  has  made  me 
mad,  and  will  understand  how  far  I  ought  to  be  blamed, 
and  how  much  I  may  be  pitied.' 

The  Curate  and  the  Barber,  who  wanted  nothing 
better  than  to  learn  the  cause  of  his  woe  from  his  own 
lips,  asked  him  to  tell  his  story,  and  promised  they  would 
do  all  they  could  for  his  consolation. 

Upon  this  Cardenio  began  his  story,  and  told  them  all 
that  he  had  told  Don  Quixote,  until  he  came  to  the  book 
that  Lucinda  had  borrowed  about  Amadis  of  Gaul. 
There  was  no  interruption  from  Don  Quixote  on  this 
occasion,  so  Cardenio  went  on  to  tell  them  how,  when 
Lucinda  returned  the  book  he  found  in  it  a  letter  full  of 
the  most  tender  wishes  beautifully  expressed. 

'  It  was  this  letter,'  continued  Cardenio,  'that  moved 
me  to  again  ask  Lucinda  for  wife  ;  it  was  this  letter 
also  which  made  Don  Fernando  determine  to  ruin  me 
before  my  happiness  could  be  complete.  I  told  Don 
Fernando  how  matters  stood  with  me,  and  how  her 
father  expected  mine  to  ask  for  Lucinda,  and  how  I  dared 
not  speak  to  my  father  about  it  for  fear  he  should  refuse 
his  consent ;  not  because  he  was  ignorant  of  the  beauty 


146      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


and  worth  of  Lucinda,  but  because  he  did  not  wish  me 
to  marry  so  soon,  or  at  least  not  until  he  had  seen  what 
the  Duke  Ricardo  would  do  for  me.  I  told  Don 
Fernando  that  I  could  not  venture  to  speak  to  my  father 
about  it,  and  he  offered  to  speak  on  my  behalf,  and 
persuade  my  father  to  ask  for  Lucinda's  hand. 

'  How  could  I  imagine  that  with  a  gentleman  like 
Fernando,  my  own  friend,  such  a  thing  as  treachery  was 
possible?  But  so  it  was!  And  my  friend,  as  I  thought 
him,  knowing  that  my  presence  was  a  stumbling-block 
to  his  plans,  asked  me  to  go  to  his  elder  brother's  to 
borrow  some  money  from  him  to  pay  for  six  horses  which 
Fernando  had  bought  in  the  city.  It  never  entered  my 
thoughts  to  imagine  his  villainy,  and  I  went  with  a  right 
good  will  to  do  his  errand.  -  That  night  I  spoke  with 
Lucinda,  and  told  her  what  had  been  arranged  between 
me  and  Fernando,  telling  her  to  hope  that  all  would 
turn  out  well.  As  I  left  her,  tears  filled  her  eyes,  and 
we  both  seemed  full  of  misery  and  alarm,  tokens,  as  I 
now  think,  of  the  dark  fate  that  awaited  me.  I  reached 
the  town  to  which  I  was  sent,  and  delivered  my  letters 
to  Don  Fernando's  brother.  I  was  well  received,  but 
there  seemed  no  haste  to  send  me  back  again,  and  I  was 
put  off  with  many  excuses  about  the  difficulty  of  raising 
the  money  that  Don  Fernando  needed.  In  this  way  I 
rested  several  days,  much  to  my  disgust,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  impossible  to  live  apart  from  Lucinda  for  so  long 
a  time. 

'  But  on  the  fourth  day  after  I  had  arrived,  there 
came  a  man  in  search  of  me  with  a  letter,  which,  by  the 


THE  STORY  OF  CARDENIO  147 

handwriting,  I  knew  to  be  Lucinda's.  I  opened  it,  not 
without  fear,  knowing  that  it  must  be  some  serious 
matter  which  would  lead  her  to  write  to  me,  seeing  she 
did  it  so  rarely.  I  asked  the  bearer,  before  I  read  the 
letter,  who  had  given  it  to  him,  and  how  long  it  had 
been  on  the  way.  He  answered  that,  passing  by  chance 
at  midday  through  a  street  in  my  native  city,  a  very 
beautiful  lady  had  called  to  him  from  a  window.  "  Poor 
thing,"  said  he,  "  her  eyes  were  all  bedewed  with  tears, 
and  she  spoke  hurriedly,  saying  :  *  Brother,  if  thou  art  a 
good  man,  as  thou  seemest  to  be,  I  pray  thee  take  this 
letter  to  the  person  named  in  the  address,  and  in  so 
doing  thou  shalt  do  me  a  great  service.  And  that  thou 
mayest  not  want  money  to  do  it,  take  what  thou  shalt 
find  wrapped  in  that  handkerchief.' 

'  "  So  saying  she  threw  out  of  the  window  a  handker- 
chief in  which  was  wrapped  a  hundred  reals,  this  ring  of 
gold  which  I  carry  here,  and  this  letter  which  I  have 
given  you.  I  made  signs  to  her  that  I  would  do  what 
she  bade,  and  as  I  knew  you  very  well  I  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  trust  any  other  messenger,  but  to  come: 
myself,  and  so  I  have  travelled  this  journey,  which  you 
know  is  some  eighteen  leagues,  in  but  sixteen  hours." 

*  Whilst  the  kind  messenger  was  telling  his  story,  I  re- 
mained trembling  with  the  letter  in  my  hand,  until  at  last 
I  took  courage  and  opened  it,  when  these  words  caught 
my  eyes  : — 

'  "  The  promise  Don  Fernando  made  to  you  to  per- 
suade your  father  to  speak  to  mine,  he  has  kept  after  his 
own  fashion.    Know,  then,  that  he  has  himself  asked  me 


148      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


for  wife,  and  my  father,  carried  away  by  his  rank  and 
position,  has  agreed  to  his  wishes,  so  that  in  two  days  we 
are  to  be  privately  married.  Imagine  how  I  feel,  and 
consider  if  you  should  not  come  at  once.  Let  me  hope 
that  this  reaches  your  hand  ere  mine  be  joined  to  his 
who  keeps  his  promised  faith  so  ill." 

'  Such  were  the  words  of  her  letter,  and  they  caused 
me  at  once  to  set  out  on  my  journey  without  waiting  for 
the  despatch  of  Don  Fernando's  business,  for  now  I  knew 
that  it  was  not  a  matter  of  buying  horses,  but  the  pursuit  of 
his  own  wretched  pleasure,  that  had  led  to  my  being  sent 
to  his  brother.  The  rage  which  I  felt  for  Don  Fernando, 
joined  to  the  fear  I  had  of  losing  the  jewel  I  had  won  by 
so  many  years  of  patient  love,  seemed  to  lend  me  wings, 
and  I  arrived  at  my  native  city  as  swiftly  as  though  I 
had  flown,  just  in  time  to  see  and  speak  with  Lucinda. 
I  entered  the  city  secretly,  and  left  my  mule  at  the  house 
of  the  honest  man  who  had  brought  my  letter,  and  went 
straight  to  the  little  iron  gate  where  I  had  so  often  met 
Lucinda. 

'  There  I  found  her,  and  as  soon  as  she  saw  me  she 
said  in  deep  distress  :  "  Cardenio,  I  am  attired  in 
wedding  garments,  and  in  the  hall  there  waits  for  me 
the  traitor,  Don  Fernando,  and  my  covetous  father,  with 
other  witnesses,  who  shall  see  my  death  rather  than  my 
wedding.  Be  not  troubled,  dear  friend,  for  if  I  cannot 
persuade  them  to  give  me  my  freedom,  I  can  at  least  end 
my  life  with  this  dagger." 

'I  answered  her  in  great  distress,  saying:  "  Sweet 
lady,  if  thou  earnest  a  dagger,  I  also  carry  a  sword  to 


THE  STORY  OF  CARDENIO  149 

defend  thy  life,  or  to  kill  myself,  should  fortune  be 
against  us." 

1 1  believe  she  did  not  hear  all  I  said,  for  she  was 
hastily  called  away,  and  I  aroused  myself  from  my  grief, 
as  best  I  could,  and  went  into  the  house,  for  I  knew 
well  all  the  entrances  and  exits.  Then,  without  being- 
seen,  I  managed  to  place  myself  in  a  hollow  formed 
by  the  window  of  the  great  hall,  which  was  covered 
by  two  pieces  of  tapestry  drawn  together,  whence  I 
could  see  all  that  went  on  in  the  hall  without  any  one 
seeing  me. 

'  The  bridegroom  entered  the  hall,  wearing  his  ordinary 
dress.  His  groomsman  was  a  first  cousin  of  Lucinda's, 
and  no  one  else  was  in  the  room  but  the  servants  of  the 
house.  In  a  little  while  Lucinda  came  out  of  her  dress- 
ing-room with  her  mother  and  two  of  her  maids.  My 
anxiety  gave  me  no  time  to  note  what  she  wore.  I  was 
only  able  to  mark  the  colours,  which  were  crimson  and 
white  ;  and  I  remember  the  glimmer  with  which  the 
jewels  and  precious  stones  shone  in  her  head-dress.  But 
all  this  was  as  nothing  to  the  singular  beauty  of  her  fair 
golden  hair. 

(  When  they  were  all  stood  in  the  hall,  the  Priest  of  the 
parish  entered,  and,  taking  each  by  the  hand,  asked  : 
u  Will  you,  Lady  Lucinda,  take  the  Lord  Don  Fernando 
for  your  lawful  husband  ?  "  I  thrust  my  head  and  neck 
out  of  the  tapestry  to  hear  what  Lucinda  answered.  The 
Priest  stood  waiting  for  a  long  time  before  she  gave  it, 
and  then,  when  I  expected,  nay,  almost  hoped,  that  she 
would  take  out  the  dagger  to  stab  herself,  or  unloose  her 


i5o      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

tongue  to  speak  the  truth,  or  make  some  confession  of 
her  love  for  me,  I  heard  her  say  in  a  faint  and  languish- 
ing voice,  "  I  will." 

'  Then  Don  Fernando  said  the  same,  and,  giving  her 
the  ring,  the  knot  was  tied.  But  when  the  Bridegroom 
approached  to  embrace  her,  she  put  her  hand  to  her 
heart  and  fell  fainting  in  her  mother's  arms. 

'  It  remains  only  for  me  to  tell  in  what  a  state  I  was, 
when  in  that  "  Yes  !  "  I  saw  all  my  hopes  at  an  end.  I 
burned  with  rage  and  jealousy.  All  the  house  was  in  a 
tumult  when  Lucinda  fainted,  and,  her  mother  unclasp- 
ing her  dress  to  give  her  air,  found  in  her  bosom  a  paper, 
which  Fernando  seized  and  went  aside  to  read  by  the 
light  of  a  torch.  Whilst  he  read  it  he  fell  into  a  chair 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  in  melancholy 
discontent. 

■  Seeing  every  one  was  in  confusion  I  ventured  forth, 
not  caring-  where  I  went,  not  having-  even  a  desire  to  take 

o  '  o 

vengeance  on  my  enemies.  I  left  the  house,  and  came 
to  where  I  had  left  my  mule,  which  I  caused  to  be 
saddled.  Then  without  a  word  of  farewell  to  any  one  I 
rode  out  of  the  city,  and  never  turned  my  head  to  look 
back  at  it  again. 

'  All  night  I  travelled,  and  about  dawn  I  came  to  one 
of  the  entrances  to  these  mountains,  through  which  I 
wandered  three  days  at  random.  I  then  left  my  mule, 
and  such  things  as  I  had,  and  took  to  living  in  these 
wilds.  My  most  ordinary  dwelling  is  in  the  hollow  of  a 
cork-tree,  which  is  large  enough  to  shelter  this  wretched 
body.    The  goatherds  who  live  among  these  mountains 


THE  STORY  OF  CARDENIO  151 

give  me  food  out  of  charity.  They  tell  me,  when  they 
meet  me  in  my  wits,  that  at  other  times  I  rush  out  at 
them  and  seize  with  violence  the  food  they  would  offer 
me  in  kindness. 

4 1  know  that  I  do  a  thousand  mad  things,  but  without 
Lucinda  I  shall  never  recover  my  reason,  and  I  feel 
certain  that  my  misery  can  only  be  ended  by  death.' 


K 


The  Story  of  Dorothea,  who  loved  Don 
Fernando 


As  soon  as  Cardenio  had  finished  hfs  melancholy  story, 
the  Curate  was  about  to  offer  him  some  consolation, 
when  he  was  stopped  by  hearing  a  mournful  voice 
calling  out :  1  Oh  that  I  could  find  an  end  to  this  life  of 
misery !  Alas,  how  much  more  agreeable  to  me  is  the 
company  of  these  rocks  and  thickets  than  the  society  of 
faithless  man!  Would  that  I  had  any  one  to  advise  me 
in  difficulty,  to  comfort  me  in  distress,  or  to  avenge  my 
wrono-s ! ' 

This  was  overheard  by  the  Curate  and  all  who  were 
with  him,  and  thinking  that  the  person  who  spoke  must 

152 


THE  STORY  OF  DOROTHEA  153 


be  hard  by,  they  went  to  search,  and  had  not  gone 
twenty  paces  when  they  saw  behind  a  large  rock  a  boy 
sitting  under  an  ash-tree.  He  wore  a  peasant's  dress, 
but  as  he  was  bending  down  to  wash  his  feet  in  the 
brook,  his  head  was  turned  from  them.  They  ap- 
proached softly  and  without  speaking,  while  his  whole 
attention  was  employed  in  bathing  his  legs  in  the  stream. 
They  wondered  at  the  whiteness  and  beauty  of  his  feet, 
that  did  not  seem  formed  to  tread  the  furrows,  or  follow 
the  cattle  or  the  plough,  as  his  dress  seemed  to  suggest. 
The  Curate,  who  was  ahead  of  the  rest,  made  signs  to 
them  to  crouch  down,  or  hide  themselves  behind  a  rock. 
This  done,  they  all  gazed  at  the  beautiful  youth,  who 
was  clad  in  a  grey  jacket,  and  wore  breeches  and  hose 
of  the  same  cloth,  with  a  grey  hunting-cap  on  his  head. 
Having  washed  his  delicate  feet,  he  wiped  them  with  a 
handkerchief  which  he  took  out  of  his  cap,  and  in  doing 
so .  he  raised  his  head,  showing  to  those  who  were 
looking  at  him  a  face  of  such  exquisite  beauty  that 
Cardenio  murmured  :  '  Since  this  is  not  Lucinda,  it  can 
be  no  earthly  but  some  celestial  being.' 

The  youth  took  off  his  cap,  and,  shaking  his  head,  a 
wealth  of  hair,  that  Apollo  might  have  envied,  fell  down 
upon  his  shoulders,  and  discovered  to  them  all  that  the 
peasant  was  not  only  a  woman,  but  one  of  the  most 
delicate  and  handsome  women  they  had  ever  seen. 
Even  Cardenio  had  to  admit  to  himself  that  only 
Lucinda  could  rival  her  in  beauty.  Her  golden  locks 
fell  down  in  such  length  and  quantity  that  they  not  only 
covered  her  shoulders,  but  concealed  everything  except 


i54      THE  STORY  OF  DON  OUIXOTE 

her  feet,  and  the  bystanders  more  than  ever  desired  to 
know  who  this  mysterious  beauty  might  be.  Some  one 
advanced,  and  at  the  noise  the  beauteous  phantasy 
raised  her  head,  and  thrust  aside  her  locks  with  both 
hands,  to  see  what  it  was  that  had  startled  her.  No 
sooner  did  she  perceive  them  than  she  started  up,  and, 
without  staying  to  put  on  her  shoes  or  tie  up  her  hair, 
seized  her  bundle,  and  took  to  flight  full  of  alarm,  but 
she  had  not  run  six  yards  when  her  delicate  feet,  unable 
to  bear  the  roughness  of  the  stones,  failed  her,  and  she 
fell  to  the  ground. 

They  all  ran  to  her  assistance,  and  the  Curate,  who 
was  first,  said  :  '  Stay,  Madam,  whosoever  you  are  ;  those 
you  see  here  have  no  desire  to  harm  you,  and  there  is 
therefore  no  necessity  whatever  for  flight.' 

To  this  she  made  no  reply,  being  ashamed  and  con- 
fused, but  the  Curate,  taking  her  hand,  continued  in  a 
kindly  manner  :  *  Madam,  it  can  be  no  slight  cause  that 
has  hidden  your  beauty  in  such  an  unworthy  disguise, 
and  brought  you  to  this  lonely  place  where  we  have 
found  you.  Let  us  at  least  offer  you  our  advice  and 
counsel  in  your  distress,  for  no  sorrow  can  be  so  great 
that  kind  words  may  not  be  of  service.  Therefore, 
Madam,  tell  us  something  of  your  good  or  evil  fortune, 
that  we  may  help  you  in  your  troubles  as  best  we 
can.' 

At  first,  while  the  Curate  spoke,  the  disguised  damsel 
stood  rapt  in  attention,  and  gaped  and  gazed  at  them 
all  as  if  she  were  some  stupid  villager,  who  did  not 
understand  what  was  said  ;  but  finding  that  the  Curate 


THE  STORY  OF  DOROTHEA  155 

understood  something  of  her  secret,  she  sighed  deeply, 
and  said  :  4  Since  these  mountains  cannot  conceal  me, 
and  my  poor  hair  betrays  my  secret,  it  would  be  vain 
for  me  to  pretend  things  which  you  could  not  be 
expected  to  believe.  Therefore  I  thank  you  all,  gentle- 
men, for  your  kindness  and  courtesy,  and  I  will  tell  you 
something  of  my  misfortunes,  not  to  win  your  pity,  but 
that  you  may  know  why  it  is  I  wander  here  alone  and  in 
this  strange  disguise.' 

All  this  was  said  in  such  a  sweet  voice,  and  in  so  sen- 
sible a  manner,  that  they  again  assured  her  of  their  wish 
to  serve  her,  and  begged  that  she  would  tell  them  her 
story. 

To  this  she  replied  by  putting  on  her  shoes  and  bind- 
ing up  her  hair,  and  seating  herself  upon  a  rock  in  the 
midst  of  her  three  hearers.  Then,  brushing  away  a  few 
tears  from  her  eyes,  she  began  in  a  clear  voice  the  story 
of  her  life. 

4  In  the  Province  of  Andalusia  there  is  a  certain  town 
from  which  a  great  Duke  takes  his  name,  which  makes 
him  one  of  our  Grandees,  as  they  are  called  in  Spain. 
He  has  two  sons.  The  elder  is  heir  to  his  estates,  the 
younger  is  heir  to  I  know  not  what,  unless  it  be  his 
father's  evil  qualities.  To  this  nobleman  my  parents  are 
vassals,  of  humble  and  low  degree,  but  still  so  rich  that 
if  nature  had  gifted  them  with  birth  equal  to  their 
wealth,  I  should  have  been  nobly  born,  nor  should  I 
now  have  suffered  these  strange  misfortunes.  They  are 
but  farmers  and  plain  people,  and  what  they  mostly 
prized  was  their  daughter,  whom  they  thought  to  be  the 


156      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


best  treasure  they  had.  As  they  had  no  other  child, 
they  were  almost  too  affectionate  and  indulgent,  and  I 
was  their  spoilt  child.  And  as  I  was  the  mistress  of 
their  affection,  so  also  was  I  mistress  of  all  their  goods. 
I  kept  the  reckoning  of  their  oil-mills,  their  wine-presses, 
their  cattle  and  sheep,  their  beehives — in  a  word,  of 
all  that  a  rich  farmer  like  my  father  could  possess. 
I  eno-ao^ed  and  dismissed  the  servants,  and  was  the 
stewardess  of  the  estate.  The  spare  hours  that  were 
left  from  the  management  of  the  farm  I  spent  with 
the  needle,  the  lace  cushion,  and  the  distaff,  or  else  I 
would  read  some  good  book  or  practise  upon  my 
harp. 

'  This  was  the  life  that  I  led  in  my  father's  house. 
And  though  I  seldom  went  abroad  except  to  church,  yet 
it  seems  I  had  attracted  the  eyes  of  the  Duke's  younger 
son,  Don  Fernando,  for  so  he  was  called.' 

No  sooner  did  she  mention  the  name  of  Don  Fer- 
nando than  Cardenio's  face  changed  colour,  and  the 
Curate  and  Barber  noticing  it,  feared  that  he  would 
burst  out  into  one  of  his  mad  fits.  But  he  did  nothing 
but  tremble  and  remain  silent,  and  the  girl  continued 
her  story. 

'  No  sooner,  then,  had  Don  Fernando  seen  me  than 
he  was  smitten  with  love  for  me,  and  from  that  moment 
I  had  no  peace.  I  could  not  sleep  for  his  serenades.  I 
had  numerous  letters  from  him,  full  of  declarations  of 
love,  and  at  last  at  his  earnest  entreaty  we  had  many 
meetings.  But  though  he  talked  much  of  love,  yet  I 
knew  that  his  father  would  not  allow  him  to  marry  the 


THE  STORY  OF  DOROTHEA  157 

daughter  of  one  of  his  own  vassals,  and  my  parents  both 
assured  me  that  the  Duke  would  never  consent  to  our 
marriage. 

'  One  evening  Don  Fernando  gave  me  a  beautiful 
ring,  and  promised  that  he  would  always  be  true  to  me, 
and  from  that  moment  I  felt  that  I  was  betrothed  to 
him,  and  that  he  really  intended,  in  spite  of  the  Duke's 
opposition,  to  make  me  his  wife.  For  some  days  I  lived 
in  the  greatest  joy,  and  Don  Fernando  came  constantly 
to  see  me,  but  after  a  while  his  visits  grew  less  frequent, 
and  at  last  ceased  altogether,  and  I  heard  that  he  had 
gone  on  a  visit  to  another  city. 

'  I  waited  in  hopes  of  receiving  a  letter  from  him,  but 
none  came.  Ah,  how  sad  and  bitter  those  days  and 
hours  were  to  me,  when  I  first  began  to  doubt  and  even 
to  disbelieve  in  my  lover's  faith !  I  had  to  keep  watch 
on  my  tears,  and  wear  a  happy  face  for  fear  my  parents 
should  find  out  the  reason  of  my  unhappiness.  All  this 
time  of  doubt,  however,  came  to  an  end  at  an  instant. 
For  at  last  it  was  announced  in  the  town  that  Don 
Fernando  had  married,  in  the  city  where  he  was  visiting, 
a  damsel  of  exceeding  beauty  and  of  very  noble  birth 
called  Lucinda,  and  there  were  many  strange  tales  told 
of  their  wedding.' 

Cardenio,  hearing  the  name  of  Lucinda,  did  nothing 
but  shrug  his  shoulders,  bow  his  head,  and  shed  bitter 
tears.  But  yet,  for  all  that,  Dorothea,  for  such  was  the 
maiden's  name,  did  not  interrupt  the  thread  of  her  story, 
but  continued. 

'  When  this  doleful  news  reached  my  ears,   I  was 


i5S      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


inflamed  with  rage  and  fury.  I  ordered  one  of  my 
father's  shepherds  to  attend  me,  and  without  saying  a 
word  to  my  parents,  I  packed  up  some  dresses  and  some 
money  and  jewels,  and  set  off  on  foot  for  the  city  where 
Don  Fernando  had  gone,  that  I  might  get  from  him  at 
least  some  explanation  of  his  wickedness.  In  two  days 
and  a  half  I  arrived  at  my  journey's  end,  and  the 
first  person  I  asked  told  me  the  whole  story  of  Don 
Fernando's  wedding.  He  told  me  that  at  the  time  of 
the  wedding,  after  Lucinda  had  uttered  her  consent  to 
be  Fernando's  wife,  she  had  fainted,  and  there  fell  from 
her  bosom  a  letter  written  in  her  own  hand,  in  which 
she  said  that  she  could  not  be  the  wife  of  Don  Fernando, 
because  she  was  betrothed  to  Cardenio,  a  gentleman  of 
that  city.  The  letter  went  on  to  say  that  she  intended 
to  kill  herself  at  the  end  of  the  ceremony,  and  upon 
her  was  found  a  dagger,  which  seemed  to  bear  out  what 
she  said.  Don  Fernando  seeing  this,  and  thinking  that 
Lucinda  had  mocked  him,  would  have  stabbed  her  with 
the  dagger  had  her  parents  not  prevented  him.  After 
this,  I  was  told,  Don  Fernando  fled,  and  I  learned  -  that 
this  Cardenio  had  been  present  at  the  wedding,  and, 
hearing  her  words,  had  vanished  from  the  city  in 
despair,  leaving  a  letter  behind,  declaring  the  wrongs 
Lucinda  had  done  to  him.  The  whole  city  were  talking 
of  these  terrible  things,  and  they  talked  the  more  when 
it  was  known  that  Lucinda  was  missing  from  her  father's 
house,  and  that  her  parents  had  almost  lost  their  reason 
in  their  distress.  When  I  heard  all  these  things  I  made 
up  my  mind  I  would  find  Don  Fernando,  married  or  un- 


THE  STORY  OF  DOROTHEA 


159 


married.  But  before  I  left  the  city  on  my  search,  I  was 
told  there  was  a  proclamation  made  by  the  public  crier, 
offering  a  large  reward  for  any  one  who  should  bring  me 
back  to  my  parents.  Fearing  that  this  might  tempt  the 
shepherd  to  betray  my  whereabouts,  I  made  my  escape 
from  the  city,  and  in  this  disguise  came  to  the  Brown 
Mountains,  where  I  have  lived  for  some  months  with 
an  old  Goatherd,  and  I  help  him  to  tend  his  goats. 
Here  I  have  managed  to  pass  as  a  peasant  lad 
until  my  hair  betrayed  me  to  you  gentlemen  as 
what  I  am,  a  distressed  and  unfortunate  maiden. 
This  is  indeed  the  true  story  of  my  tragedy,  for 
which  consolation  is  in  vain,  and  relief,  I  fear  me, 
impossible.' 


i6o      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAPTER  XX 

Of  the  pleasant  Plan  they  carried  out  to  persuade 
Don  Quixote  not  to  continue  his  Penance 

When  the  unfortunate  Dorothea  had  finished  her  story, 
she  remained  silent,  her  face  flushed  with  sorrow  ;  and 
as  the  Priest  was  about  to  comfort  her,  Cardenio  took 
her  by  the  hand  and  said  :  '  Lady,  thou  art  the  beautiful 
Dorothea,  daughter  unto  rich  Cleonardo.' 

Dorothea  was  amazed  when  she  heard  her  father's 
name  spoken  by  a  person  of  such  wretched  appearance 
as  Cardenio,  and  answered  :  '  Who  art  thou,  friend, 
that  knowest  so  well  my  father's  name  ?  For,  unless  I 
am  mistaken,  I  did  not  once  name  him  throughout  all 
my  story.' 

'I  am,'  said  Cardenio,  'the  unlucky  one  to  whom 
Lucinda  was  betrothed  ;  and  I,  too,  had  thought  that  I 
was  without  hope  of  comfort.  But  now  I  hear  that 
Lucinda  will  not  marry  Fernando  because  she  is  mine, 
and  Fernando  cannot  marry  Lucinda  because  he  is 
yours,  it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  yet  some  consolation 
for  both  of  us.  And  I  vow,  on  the  faith  of  a  gentleman, 
not  to  forsake  you  until  I  see  you  in  the  possession  of 
Don  Fernando.' 


THE  END  OF  THE  PENANCE 


161 


The  Curate  now  told  them  both  the  nature  of  his 
errand,  and  begged  that  they  would  join  him  in  his 
travels,  and  stay  as  long  as  they  pleased  at  his  village. 
By  this  time  they  heard  the  voice  of  Sancho  Panza, 
who,  not  finding  them  where  he  had  left  them,  was 
calling  out  as  loudly  as  he  might. 

They  went  to  meet  him,  and  asked  for  Don  Quixote. 
Sancho  told  them  that  he  had  found  him  almost  naked 
to  his  shirt,  lean  and  yellow,  half  dead  with  hunger,  and 
sighing  for  the  Lady  Dulcinea  ;  and  although  he  had 
told  him  that  she  commanded  him  to  journey  to  Toboso, 
yet  he  declared  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to 
appear  before  her  until  he  had  done  feats  worthy  of 
her  great  beauty. 

The  Curate  now  returned  and  told  Dorothea  of  their 
plan,  and  she  at  once  offered  to  act  the  part  of  the 
distressed  damsel,  for  she  had  a  lady's  dress  in  the 
bundle  which  she  carried. 

'  The  sooner,  then,  we  set  about  our  work  the  better/ 
said  the  Barber. 

Dorothea  retired  to  put  on  her  robe  of  a  fine  rich 
woollen  cloth,  a  short  mantle  of  another  green  stuff,  and 
a  collar  and  many  rich  jewels  which  she  took  from  a 
little  casket.  With  these  things  she  adorned  herself  so 
gorgeously  that  she  appeared  to  be  a  Princess  at  least. 
When  Sancho  saw  her  he  was  amazed,  and  asked  the 
Curate  with  great  eagerness  to  tell  him  who  the  lady 
was,  and  what  she  was  doing  in  these  out  of  the  way 
places. 

'This  beautiful  lady,  brother  Sancho,'  replied  the 

i, 


i62      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

Curate,  '  is  the  heiress  in  direct  line  of  the  mighty  King- 
dom of  Micomicon,  who  has  come  in  search  of  thy 
Master,  to  ask  of  him  a  boon,  which  is  to  avenge  her  of 
a  wrong  done  by  a  wicked  Giant.  And,  owing  to  the 
great  fame  of  thy  Master  which  has  spread  through 
all  lands,  this  beautiful  Princess  has  come  to  find 
him  out/ 

'  A  happy  searcher  and  a  happy  finding,'  cried 
Sancho ;  '  my  Master  shall  soon  slay  the  great  lubber  of 
a  Giant,  unless  he  turn  out  to  be  a  phantom,  for  he  has 
no  power  over  those  things.  And  when  this  is  done, 
my  Lord  shall  marry  the  Princess,  whose  name,  by  the 
bye,  you  have  not  yet  told  me,  and  by  this  means 
shall  he  become  an  Emperor,  and  have  Islands  to  give 
away/ 

'  Her  name,'  replied  the  Curate,  1  is  the  Princess 
Micomicona,  and  as  to  your  Master's  marriage,  I  will 
do  what  I  can  to  help/ 

Sancho  was  quite  satisfied  with  these  answers,  and, 
when  Dorothea  had  mounted  the  mule,  he  guided  them 
towards  the  spot  where  Don  Quixote  was  to  be  found. 
And  as  they  went  along,  the  Barber  told  Sancho  he 
must  in  no  way  pretend  to  know  who  he  was,  for  if 
he  did,  Don  Quixote  would  never  leave  the  mountains 
and  would  never  become  an  Emperor.  The  Curate 
and  Cardenio  remained  behind,  promising  to  join  them 
again  on  the  first  opportunity. 

Having  travelled  about  three-quarters  of  a  league, 
they  found  Don  Quixote  clothed,  though  still  unarmed, 
sitting  amidst  the  rocks.    No  sooner  did  Sancho  tell 


THE  END  OF  THE  PENANCE  163 


Dorothea  that  this  was  his  Master  than  she  whipped  up 
her  palfrey,  closely  followed  by  the  well-bearded  Barber, 
who  jumped  from  his  mule,  and  ran  to  help  his  lady 
alight. 

Quickly  dismounting,  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees 
before  Don  Quixote,  and  refusing  his  efforts  to  raise 
her,  spoke  as  follows :  '  Never  will  I  rise  from  this 
position,  most  valiant  and  invincible  Knight,  until  you 
grant  me  a  boon  which  will  not  only  add  to  your  honour 
and  renown,  but  also  assist  the  most  injured  and  un- 
fortunate damsel  that  ever  the  sun  beheld.  And  if  the 
valour  of  your  mighty  arm  be  equal  to  what  I  have 
heard  of  your  immortal  fame,  you  can  indeed  render 
aid  to  a  miserable  being  who  comes  from  a  far-distant 
land  to  seek  your  help.' 

4  Beauteous  lady,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  '  I  will  not 
answer  one  word,  nor  hear  a  jot  of  your  affairs,  until  you 
rise  from  the  ground.' 

'  I  will  not  rise,  my  Lord,'  answered  the  unfortunate 
maiden,  '  until  I  have  obtained  from  you  the  boon 
I  beg.' 

'  Dear  Lady,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  '  it  is  granted, 
so  that  it  be  not  anything  that  touches  my  duty  to 
my  King,  my  country,  or  the  chosen  Queen  of  my 
heart.' 

'Your  kindness  shall  in  no  way  affect  them,'  replied 
Dorothea. 

At  this  moment  Sancho  came  up  and  whispered  softly 
in  his  Master's  ear  :  '  Sir,  you  may  very  well  grant 
the  request  she  asketh,  for  it  is  a  mere  nothing  ;  it  is 


i64      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


only  to  kill  a  monstrous  Giant,  and  she  that  demands 
it  is  the  Princess  Micomicona,  Queen  of  the  great  King- 
dom of  Micomicon  in  Ethiopia.' 

'  Let  her  be  what  she  will/  said  Don  Quixote,  '  I 
will  do  my  duty  towards  her.'  And  then  turning  to 
the  damsel,  he  said  :  '  Rise,  most  beautiful  Lady,  for 
I  grant  you  any  boon  you  shall  please  to  ask  of 
me.' 

'Why,  then,'  said  Dorothea,  'what  I  ask  of  you  is, 
that  you  will  at  once  come  away  with  me  to  the  place 
where  I  shall  guide  you,  and  that  you  promise  me  not 
to  undertake  any  new  adventure,  until  you  have  re- 
venged me  on  a  traitor  who  has  driven  me  out  of  my 
Kingdom.' 

1  I  grant  your  request/  said  Don  Quixote,  1  and  there- 
fore, Lady,  you  may  cast  away  from  this  day  forward 
all  the  melancholy  that  troubles  you,  for  this  mighty 
arm  shall  restore  you  to  your  Kingdom.' 

The  distressed  damsel  strove  with  much  ado  to  kiss 
his  hand,  but  Don  Quixote,  who  was  a  most  courteous 
Knight,  would  not  permit  it,  and,  making  her  arise, 
treated  her  with  the  greatest  respect. 

He  now  commanded  Sancho  to  saddle  Rozinante  and 
help  him  to  arm  himself,  and  this  done  the  Knight  was 
ready  to  depart.  The  Barber,  who  had  been  kneeling 
all  the  while,  had  great  difficulty  to  stop  laughing  aloud 
at  all  this,  and  his  beard  was  in  dano-er  0f  falling  off. 
He  was  glad  to  get  up  and  help  his  Lady  to  mount 
the  mule,  and  when  Don  Quixote  was  mounted,  and 
the  Barber  himself  had  got  upon  his  beast,  they  were 


THE  END  OF  THE  PENANCE  165 


ready  to  start.  As  for  Sancho,  who  trudged  along  on 
foot,  he  could  not  help  grieving  for  the  loss  of  his 
Dapple  ;  but  he  bore  it  all  with  patience,  for  now  he 
saw  his  Master  on  the  way  to  marry  a  Princess,  and 
so  become  at  least  King  of  Micomicon,  though  it 
grieved  him  to  think  that  that  country  was  peopled  by 
blackamoors,  and  that  when  he  became  a  ruler  his 
vassals  would  all  be  black. 

While  this  was  going  on,  the  Curate  and  Cardenio 
had  not  been  idle.  For  the  Curate  was  a  cunning 
plotter,  and  had  hit  on  a  bright  idea.  He  took  from 
his  pocket  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  cut  off  Cardenio's 
rugged  beard  and  trimmed  his  hair  very  cleverly.  And 
when  he  had  thrown  his  riding-cloak  over  Cardenio's 
shoulders,  he  was  so  unlike  what  he  was  before,  that 
he  would  not  have  known  himself  in  a  looking-glass. 
This  finished,  they  went  out  to  meet  Don  Quixote  and 
the  others. 

When  they  came  towards  them,  the  Curate  looked 
earnestly  at  the  Knight  for  some  time,  and  then  ran 
towards  him  with  open  arms,  saying  :  'In  a  good  hour 
is  this  meeting  with  my  worthy  countryman,  the  mirror 
of  Knighthood,  Don  Quixote  of  the  Mancha*  the 
Champion  of  the  distressed.' 

Don  Quixote  did  not  at  first  know  him,  but  when 
he  remembered  the  Curate  he  wanted  to  alight,  saying  : 
'It  is  not  seemly,  reverend  Sir,  that  I  should  ride 
whilst  you  travel  on  foot.' 

But  the  Curate  would  not  allow  him  to  dis- 
mount and  give  him  his   horse,   but  suggested  that 


166      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

he  might  ride  behind  the  lady's  Squire  on  his 
mule. 

'I  did  not  think  of  that,  good  Master  Curate,'  said 
Don  Quixote  ;  1  but  I  know  my  Lady  the  Princess  will 
for  my  sake  order  her  Squire  to  lend  you  the  use  of  his 
saddle.' 

'That  I  will/  said  the  Princess;  'and  I  know  my 
Squire  is  the  last  man  to  grudge  a  share  of  his  beast 
to  this  reverend  Father.' 

'  That  is  most  certain,'  said  the  Barber,  and  got  off 
his  steed  at  once. 

The  Curate  now  mounted,  but  the  misfortune  was 
that  when  the  Barber  tried  to  get  up  behind,  the  mule, 
which  was  a  hired  one,  lifted  up  her  legs  and  kicked 
out  with  such  fury  that  she  knocked  Mr.  Nicholas  to 
the  ground,  and,  as  he  rolled  over,  his  beard  fell  off  and 
lay  upon  the  earth.  Don  Quixote,  seeing  that  huge 
mass  of  beard  torn  from  the  jaw  without  blood,  and 
lying  at  a  distance  from  the  Squire's  face,  said  :  *  This, 
I  vow,  is  one  of  the  greatest  miracles  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life.  The  beard  is  taken  off  as  clean  by  the  heel  of  the 
mule  as  if  it  had  been  done  by  the  hand  of  a  barber.' 

The  Curate,  seeing  the  risk  they  ran  of  their  plan 
being  found  out,  came  to  where  Master  Nicholas  was 
lying,  and  with  one  jerk  clapped  it  on  again,  muttering 
as  he  did  so  some  Latin  words,  which  he  said  were 
a  charm  for  fixing  on  beards. 

By  this  means,  to  Don  Quixote's  amazement,  the 
Squire  was  cured  again,  and  he  asked  the  Curate  to 
tell  him  this  charm,  which,  he  said,  since  it  could  heal 


THE  END  OF  THE  PENANCE  167 


a  wound  of  this  kind,  must  be  good  for  even  more 
dangerous  injuries. 

The  Curate  agreed  to  tell  him  the  secret  some  other 
day,  and,  having  mounted  the  mule,  the  party  rode 
slowly  away  towards  the  Ina 


L 


Of  the  Journey  to  the  Inn 


The  Curate  rode  first  on  the  mule,  and  with  him  rode 
Don  Quixote  and  the  Princess.  The  others,  Cardenio, 
the  Barber,  and  Sancho  Panza,  followed  on  foot. 

And  as  they  rode,  Don  Quixote  said  to  the  damsel : 
'  Madam,  let  me  entreat  your  Highness  to  lead  the  way 
that  most  pleaseth  you.' 

Before  she  could  answer,  the  Curate  said  :  '  Towards 
what  Kingdoms  would  you  travel  ?  Are  you  for  your 
native  land  of  Micomicon  ? ' 

She,  who  knew  very  well  what  to  answer,  being  no 
babe,  replied :  '  Yes,  Sir,  my  way  lies  towards  that  King- 
dom.' 

1G8 


JOURNEY  TO  THE  INN  169 


'  If  it  be  so,'  said  the  Curate,  *  you  must  pass  through 
the  village  where  I  dwell,  and  from  thence  your  Lady- 
ship must  take  the  road  to  Carthagena,  where  you  may 
embark.  And,  if  you  have  a  prosperous  journey,  you 
may  come  within  the  space  of  nine  years  to  the  Lake 
Meona,  I  mean  Meolidas,  which  stands  on  this  side  of 
your  Highness's  Kingdom  some  hundred  days'  journey 
or  more.' 

■  You  are  mistaken,  good  Sir,'  said  she,  '  for  it  is  not 
yet  fully  two  years  since  I  left  there,  and,  though  I  never 
had  fair  weather,  I  have  arrived  in  time  to  see  what  I  so 
longed  for,  the  presence  of  the  renowned  Don  Quixote 
of  the  Mancha,  whose  glory  was  known  to  me  as  soon 
as  my  foot  touched  the  shores  of  Spain.' 

'  No  more,'  cried  Don  Quixote.  '  I  cannot  abide  to 
hear  myself  praised,  for  I  am  a  sworn  enemy  to  flattery. 
And  though  I  know  what  you  speak  is  but  truth,  yet  it 
•offends  mine  ears.  And  I  can  tell  you  this,  at  least, 
that  whether  I  have  valour  or  not,  I  will  use  it  in  your 
service,  even  to  the  loss  of  my  life.  But  let  me  know, 
Master  Curate,  what  has  brought  you  here  ? ' 

s  You  must  know,  then,'  replied  the  Curate,  '  that 
Master  Nicholas,  the  Barber,  and  myself  travelled  to- 
wards Seville  to  recover  certain  sums  of  money  which  a 
kinsman  of  mine  in  the  Indies  had  sent  me.  And  pass- 
ing yesterday  through  this  way  we  were  set  upon  by  four 
robbers,  who  took  everything  that  we  had.  And  it  is  said 
about  here,  that  those  who  robbed  us  were  certain  galley 
slaves,  who  they  say  were  set  at  liberty,  almost  on  this 
very  spot,  by  a  man  so  valiant  that  in  spite  of  the  guard 


i;o      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

he  released  them  all.  And  doubtless  he  must  be  out  of 
his  wits,  or  else  he  must  be  as  great  a  knave  as  they,  to 
loose  the  wolf  among  the  sheep,  and  rebel  against  his 
King  by  taking  from  the  galleys  their  lawful  prey.' 

Sancho  had  told  the  Curate  of  the  adventure  with  the 
galley  slaves,  and  the  Curate  spoke  of  it  to  see  what 
Don  Quixote  would  say.  The  Knight,  however,  durst 
not  confess  his  part  in  the  adventure,  but  rode  on, 
changing  colour  at  every  word  the  Curate  spoke. 

When  the  Curate  had  finished,  Sancho  burst  out : 
1  By  my  father,  Master  Curate,  he  that  did  that  deed 
was  my  Master,  and  that  not  for  want  of  warning,  for  I 
told  him  beforehand  that  it  was  a  sin  to  deliver  them, 
and  that  they  were  great  rogues  who  had  been  sent  to 
the  galleys  to  punish  them  for  their  crimes.' 

'You  bottlehead ! '  replied  Don  Quixote.  'It  is  not 
the  duty  of  Knights  Errant  to  examine  whether  the 
afflicted,  enslaved,  and  oppressed  whom  they  meet  by 
the  way  are  in  sorrow  for  their  own  default ;  they  must 
relieve  them  because  they  are  needy  and  in  distress, 
looking  at  their  sorrow  and  not  at  their  crimes.  And 
if  any  but  the  holy  Master  Curate  shall  find  fault  with 
me  on  this  account,  I  will  tell  him  that  he  knows  nought 
of  Knighthood,  and  that  he  lies  in  his  throat,  and  this  I 
will  make  him  know  by  the  power  of  my  sword.' 

Dorothea,  who  was  discreet  enough  to  see  they  were 
carrying  the  jest  too  far,  now  said  :  '  Remember,  Sir 
Knight,  the  boon  you  promised  me,  never  to  engage  in 
any  other  adventure,  be  it  ever  so  urgent,  until  you  have 
seen  me  righted.    And  had  Master  Curate  known  that 


JOURNEY  TO  THE  INN  171 

it  was  the  mighty  arm  of  Don  Quixote  that  freed  the 
galley  slaves,  I  feel  sure  he  would  have  bit  his  tongue 
through  ere  he  spoke  words  which  might  cause  you 
anger.' 

'  That  I  dare  swear,'  said  the  Curate. 

'  Madam,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  '  I  will  hold  my  peace 
and  keep  my  anger  to  myself,  and  will  ride  on  peaceably 
and  quietly  until  I  have  done  the  thing  I  promised.  Tell 
me,  therefore,  without  delay,  what  are  your  troubles  and 
on  whom  am  I  to  take  revenge.' 

To  this  Dorothea  replied  :  '  Willingly  will  I  do  what 
you  ask,  so  you  will  give  me  your  attention.' 

At  this  Cardenio  and  the  Barber  drew  near  to  hear 
the  witty  Dorothea  tell  her  tale,  and  Sancho,  who  was 
as  much  deceived  as  his  Master,  was  the  most  eager  of 
all  to  listen. 

She,  after  settling  herself  in  her  saddle,  began  with  a 
lively  air  to  speak  as  follows  :  '  In  the  first  place,  I  would 

have  you  know,  gentlemen,  that  my  name  is  '  Here 

she  stopped  a  moment,  for  she  had  forgotten  what  name 
the  Curate  had  given  her. 

He,  seeing  her  trouble,  said  quickly:  '  It  is  no  wonder, 
great  Lady,  that  you  hesitate  to  tell  your  misfortunes. 
Great  sufferers  often  lose  their  memory,  so  that  they 
even  forget  their  own  names,  as  seems  to  have  hap- 
pened to  your  Ladyship,  who  has  forgotten  that  she  is 
called  the  Princess  Micomicona,  heiress  of  the  great 
Kingdom  of  Micomicon/ 

'  True,'  said  the  damsel,  '  but  let  me  proceed.  The 
King,  my  father,  was  called  Tinacrio  the  Sage,  and  was 


172      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


learned  in  the  magic  art.  By  this  he  discovered  that 
my  mother,  the  Queen  Xaramilla,  would  die  before  him, 
and  that  I  should  soon  afterwards  be  left  an  orphan. 
This  did  not  trouble  him  so  much  as  the  knowledge 
that  a  certain  Giant,  called  Pandafilando  of  the  Sour 
Face,  Lord  of  a  great  Island  near  our  border,  when  he 
should  hear  that  I  was  an  orphan,  would  pass  over  with 
a  mighty  force  into  my  Kingdom  and  take  it  from  me. 
My  father  warned  me  that  when  this  came  to  pass  I 
should  not  stay  to  defend  myself,  and  so  cause  the 
slaughter  of  my  people,  but  should  at  once  set  out  for 
Spain,  where  I  should  meet  with  a  Knight  whose  fame 
would  then  extend  through  all  that  Kingdom.  His 
name,  he  said,  should  be  Don  Quixote,  and  he  would 
be  tall  of  stature,  have  a  withered  face,  and  on  his  right 
side,  a  little  under  his  left  shoulder,  he  should  have  a 
tawny  spot  with  certain  hairs  like  bristles.' 

On  hearing  this,  Don  Quixote  said  :  '  Hold  my  horse, 
son  Sancho,  and  help  me  to  strip,  for  I  would  know  if  I 
am  the  Knight  of  whom  the  sage  King  spoke/ 

1  There  is  no  need,'  said  Sancho,  'for  I  know  that 
your  Worship  has  such  a  mark  near  your  backbone.' 

1  It  is  enough/  said  Dorothea,  'for  among  friends  we 
must  not  be  too  particular,  and  whether  it  is  on  your 
shoulder  or  your  backbone  is  of  no  importance.  And, 
indeed,  no  sooner  did  I  land  in  Osuna  than  I  heard 
of  Don  Quixote's  fame,  and  felt  sure  that  he  was  the  man/ 

1  But  how  did  you  land  in  Osuna,  Madam,'  asked  Don 
Quixote,  '  seeing  that  it  is  not  a  sea  town  ? ' 

'Sir,'  said  the  Curate,  'the  Princess  would  say  that 


JOURNEY  TO  THE  INN  173 

she  landed  at  Malaga,  and  that  Osuna  was  the  first 
place  wherein  she  hea'rd  tidings  of  your  Worship.' 

'  That  is  so,'  said  Dorothea ;  '  and  now  nothing  remains 
but  to  guide  you  to  Pandafilando  of  the  Sour  Face,  that 
I  may  see  you  slay  him,  and  once  again  enter  into  my 
Kingdom.  For  all  must  succeed  as  the  wise  Tinacrio, 
my  father,  has  foretold,  and  if  the  Knight  of  the 
prophecy,  when  he  has  killed  the  Giant,  so  desires, 
then  it  will  be  my  lot  to  become  his  wife,  and  he  will 
at  once  possess  both  me  and  my  Kingdom.' 

'  What  thinkest  thou  of  this,  friend  Sancho  ?  Did  I 
not  tell  thee  this  would  come  about?  Here  we  have 
a  Kingdom  to  command  and  a  Queen  to  marry.' 

When  Sancho  heard  all  this  he  jumped  for  joy,  and 
running  to  Dorothea  stopped  her  mule,  and  asking  her 
very  humbly  to  give  him  her  hand  to  kiss,  he  kneeled 
down  as  a  sign  that  he  accepted  her  as  his  Queen  and 
Lady. 

All  around  could  scarcely  hide  their  laughter  at  the 
Knight's  madness  and  the  Squire's  simplicity,  and  when 
Dorothea  promised  Sancho  to  make  him  a  great  lord, 
and  Sancho  gave  her  thanks,  it  roused  their  mirth 
anew. 

'  Madam,'  continued  Don  Quixote,  who  appeared  to 
be  full  of  thought,  '  I  repeat  all  I  have  said,  and  make 
my  vow  anew,  and  when  I  have  cut  off  the  head  of 
Pandafilando  I  will  put  you  in  peaceable  possession  of 
your  Kingdom,  but  since  my  memory  and  will  are 
captive  to  another,  it  is  not  possible  for  me  to  marry.' 

So  disgusted  was  Sancho  with  what  he  heard  that  he 


174      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


cried  out  in  a'  great  rage :  '  Surely,  Sir  Don  Quixote, 
your  Worship  is  not  in  your  right  senses.  Is  it  possible 
your  Worship  can  refuse  to  marry  a  Princess  like  this? 
A  poor  chance  have  I  of  getting  a  Countship  if  your 
Worship  goes  on  like  this,  searching  for  mushrooms  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Is  my  Lady  Dulcinea  more 
beautiful?  She  cannot  hold  a  candle  to  her.  Marry 
her !  Marry  at  once,  and  when  you  are  King  make 
me  a  Governor.' 

Don  Quixote,  who  heard  such  evil  things  spoken  of 
his  Lady  Dulcinea,  could  not  bear  them  any  longer,  and 
therefore,  lifting  up  his  lance,  without  speaking  a  word 
to  Sancho,  gave  him  two  blows  that  brought  him  to  the 
earth,  and  if  Dorothea  had  not  called  to  the  Knight 
to  spare  him,  without  doubt  he  would  have  taken  his 
Squire's  life. 

4  Think  you,  miserable  villain,'  cried  Don  Quixote,  1  that 
it  is  to  be  all  sinning  on  thy  side  and  pardoning  on  mine  ? 
Say,  scoffer  with  the  viper's  tongue,  who  dost  thou  think 
hath  gained  this  Kingdom  and  cut  off  the  head  of  this 
Giant  and  made  thee  Marquis — for  all  this  I  take  to  be 
a  thing  as  good  as  completed — unless  it  be  the  worth 
and  valour  of  Dulcinea  using  my  arm  as  her  instrument  ? 
She  fights  in  my  person,  and  I  live  and  breathe  in  her. 
From  her  I  hold  my  life  and  being.  O  villain,  how 
ungrateful  art  thou  that  seest  thyself  raised  from  the 
dust  of  the  earth  to  be  a  nobleman,  and  speakest  evil 
of  her  who  gives  thee  such  honours  ! ' 

Sancho  was  not  too  much  hurt  to  hear  what  his 
Master  said.    He  jumped  up  nimbly  and  ran  behind 


JOURNEY  TO  THE  INN  175 

Dorothea's  palfrey,  and  from  there  said  to  his  Master  : 
*  Tell  me,  your  Worship,  if  you  are  not  going  to  marry 
this  great  Princess,  how  this  Kingdom  will  become 
yours,  and  how  you  can  do  me  any  favours.  Pray 
marry  this  Queen  now  we  have  her  here.  I  say  nothing 
against  Lady  Dulcinea's  beauty,  for  I  have  never  seen 
her.' 

'How,  thou  wicked  traitor,  thou  hast  not  seen  her!' 
cried  Don  Quixote.  '  Didst  thou  not  but  now  bring  me 
a  message  from  her  ?  ' 

'  I  mean,'  replied  Sancho,  '  not  seen  her  for  long 
enough  to  judge  of  her  beauty,  though,  from  what  I 
did  see,  she  appeared  very  lovely.' 

'  Ah ! '  said  Don  Quixote,  '  then  I  do  excuse  thee,  but 
have  a  care  what  thou  sayest,  for,  remember,  the  pitcher 
may  go  once  too  often  to  the  well.' 

'  No  more  of  this,'  said  Dorothea.  '  Run,  Sancho, 
kiss  your  Master's  hand,  and  ask  his  pardon.  Hence- 
forth speak  no  evil  of  the  Lady  Dulcinea,  and  trust  that 
fortune  may  find  you  an  estate  where  you  may  live  like 
a  Prince.' 

Sancho  went  up  hanging  his  head  and  asked  his 
Lord's  hand,  which  he  gave  him  with  a  grave  air,  and; 
after  he  had  kissed  it,  the  Knight  gave  him  his  blessing, 
and  no  more  was  said  about  it. 

While  this  was  passing,  they  saw  coming  along  the 
road  on  which  they  were  a  man  riding  upon  an  Ass, 
and  when  he  drew  near  he  seemed  to  be  a  gipsy.  But 
Sancho  Panza,  whenever  he  met  with  any  asses,  followed 
them  with  his  eyes  and  his  heart,  and  he  had  hardly 


i  76      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

caught  sight  of  the  man  when  he  knew  him  to  be  the 
escaped  robber,  Gines  of  Passamonte,  and  the  Ass  to  be 
none  other  than  his  beloved  Dapple. 

Gines  had  disguised  himself  as  a  gipsy,  but  Sancho 
knew  him,  and  called  out  in  a  loud  voice  :  '  Ah !  thief 
Gines,  give  up  my  jewel,  let  go  my  life,  give  up 
mine  Ass,  give  up  the  comfort  of  my  home.  Fly, 
scoundrel!  Begone,  thief!  Give  back  what  is  none  of 
thine.' 

He  need  not  have  used  so  many  words,  for  Gines 
leaped  off  at  the  first  and  raced  away  from  them  all  as 
fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him. 

Sancho  then  ran  up  to  Dapple,  and,  embracing  him, 
cried  :  '  How  hast  thou  been  cared  for,  my  darling  and 
treasure,  Dapple  of  mine  eyes,  my  sweet  companion  ? ' 
With  this  he  stroked  and  kissed  him  as  if  he  had 
been  a  human  being.  But  the  Ass  held  his  peace, 
and  allowed  Sancho  to  kiss  and  cherish  him  without 
answering  a  word. 


The  Story  Sancho  Panza  told  his  Master  of  his 
Visit  to  the  Lady  Dulcinea 


When  the  rest  came  up  they  all  congratulated  Sancho 
on  finding  his  ass,  and  Don  Quixote  promised  that  he 
would  still  give  him  the  three  ass-colts,  for  which 
Sancho  thanked  him  heartily. 

While  the  Knight  and  his  Squire  rode  on  ahead,  the 
Curate  said  to  Cardenio :  'Is  it  not  marvellous  to  see 
the  strange  way  in  which  this  good  gentleman  believes 
all  these  inventions, .  and  this  only  because  they  wear 
the  style  and  fashion  of  the  follies  he  is  so  fond  of 
reading  ?  ' 


i/8      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


'It  is  so,'  said  Cardenio,  'and  indeed,  if  he  were  a. 
character  in  a  story  -  book  no  one  would  believe  in 
him.' 

'There  is  another  thing,  too,'  said  the  Curate,  'that 
apart  from  his  folly  about  Knighthood,  no  one  would 
esteem  him  to  be  other  than  a  man  of  excellent 
judgment.' 

Don  Quixote  at  the  same  time  was  saying  to  Sancho  : 
'  Friend  Sancho,  let  us  bury  all  injuries,  and  tell  me  when, 
how,  and  where  didst  thou  find  Dulcinea.  What  was 
she  doing  ?  What  saidst  thou  to  her  ?  What  answer 
made  she  ?  How  did  she  look  when  she  read  my  letter  ? 
Who  copied  it  for  thee?  Tell  me  all,  without  adding 
to  it  or  lying,  for  I  would  know  everything.' 

'  Master,'  replied  Sancho,  '  if  I  must  speak  the  truth, 
nobody  copied  out  the  letter,  for  I  carried  no  letter 
at  all.' 

'  Thou  sayest  true,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'for  I  found 
the  pocket-book,  wherein  it  was  written,  two  days  after 
thy  departure,  and  I  did  expect  that  thou  wouldst 
return  for  it.' 

1  I  had  done  so,'  said  Sancho,  'if  I  had  not  carried  it 
in  my  memory  when  you  read  it  to  me,  so  that  I  could 
say  it  to.  a  parish  clerk,  who  copied  it  out  of  my  head, 
word  for  word,  so  exactly  that  he  said  that  in  all  the 
days  of  his  life  he  had  never  read  such  a  pretty 
letter.' 

'  And  hast  thou  it  still  by  heart,  Sancho  ?  '  asked  Don 
Quixote. 

'  No,  Sir,  for  after  I  gave  it,  seeing  that  it  was  to  be 


SANCHO  PANZA'S  STORY 


of  no  more  use,  I  let  myself  forget  it.    If  I  remember,  it 

began,  Scrubby  Queen,  Sovereign  Lady,  and  the  endings — 
yours  till  death,  the  Knight  of  the  Rueful  Countenance — 
but  between  these  things  I  put  in  three  hundred  hearts, 
and  lovel,  and  dear  eyes' 

'  All  this  I  like  to  hear,  therefore  say  on,'  said  Don 
Quixote.  '  Thou  didst  arrive  ;  and  what  was  the  Queen 
of  Beauty  doing  then  ?  I  daresay  thou  foundest  her 
threading  pearls  or  embroidering  some  curious  device 
with  golden  threads  for  this  her  captive  Knight.' 

'  No,  that  I  did  not/  said  Sancho,  '  but  winnowing 
two  bushels  of  wheat  in  the  yard  of  her  house.' 

'Why,  then,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'thou  mayest  reckon 
that  each  grain  of  wheat  was  a  pearl,  seeing  they  were 
touched  by  her  hands.  But  tell  me,  when  thou  didst 
deliver  my  letter,  did  she  kiss  it  ?  Did  she  use  any 
ceremony  worthy  of  such  a  letter?  Or  what  did 
she?' 

'When  I  went  to  give  it  to  her,'  said  Sancho,  'she 
was  all  in  a  bustle  with  a  good  lot  of  wheat  in  her  sieve, 
and  said  to  me  :  "  Lay  down  that  letter  there  on  the  sack, 
for  I  cannot  read  it  until  I  have  winnowed  all  that  is 
here." ' 

'  O  discreet  Lady  ! '  said  Don  Quixote  ;  '  she  must 
have  done  that,  so  that  she  might  read  and  enjoy  it  at 
leisure.  Go  on,  then,  Sancho,  and  tell  all  she  said  about 
me,  and  what  thou  saidst  to  her.' 

'She  asked  me  nothing,'  replied  the  Squire,  'but  I 
told  her  the  state  which  I  left  you  in  for  her  sake, 
doing  penance  all  naked  from  the  girdle  up  among  these 


i So      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

rocks  like  a  brute  beast,  and  I  told  her  how  you  slept 
on  the  ground  and  never  combed  your  beard,  but  spent 
your  time  weeping  and  cursing  your  fortune.' 

'  There  thou  saidst  ill,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'for  I  do 
not  curse  my  fortune,  but  rather  bless  it,  seeing  that  it 
hath  made  me  worthy  to  merit  the  love  of  so  beautiful  a 
lady  as  Dulcinea  of  Toboso.  But  tell  me,  after  she 
had  sifted  her  corn  and  sent  it  to  the  mill,  did  she  then 
read  my  letter  ?  ' 

'The  letter,'  replied  Sancho,  'she  did  never  read,  for 
she  said  she  could  neither  read  nor  write,  and  therefore 
she  tore  it  into  small  pieces,  and  would  allow  no  one  to 
read  it  lest  the  whole  village  miodit  know  her  secrets. 
Lastly,  she  told  me  that  I  was  to  say  to  your  Worship 
that  she  kissed  your  hands,  and  that  she  had  a  greater 
desire  to  see  you  than  to  write  to  you.  Therefore  she 
begged,  as  you  loved  her,  that  you  should  quit  these 
bushes  and  brambles,  and  leave  off  these  mad  pranks, 
and  set  out  for  Toboso,  for  she  had  a  great  longing  to 
see  your  Worship.  She  laughed  a  good  deal  when  I 
told  her  they  called  your  Worship  the  Knight  of  the 
Rueful  Countenance.  I  asked  her  whether  the  beaten 
Eiscayan  came  there.  She  said  yes,  and  that  he  was  a 
very  good  fellow.  I  asked  also  after  the  galley  slaves  ; 
but  she  told  me  that  she  had  seen  none  of  them  as  yet.' 

'All  goes  well,  then,'  said  Don  Quixote  ;  '  but  tell  me, 
what  jewel  did  she  bestow  on  thee  at  thy  departure  for 
reward  of  the  tidings  thou  hadst  brought?  For  it  is  a 
usual  and  ancient  custom  amonor  Knights  Errant  and 
their  Ladies  to  give  to  their  Squires,  damsels,  or  dwarfs 


SANCHO  PANZA'S  STORY  181 


who  bring  good  tidings,  some  rich  jewel  as  a  reward  for 
their  welcome  news.' 

1  It  may  well  be,'  replied  Sancho ;  'and  I  think  it  was 
a  most  excellent  custom,  but  I  doubt  if  it  exists 
nowadays,  for  it  would  seem  to  be  the  manner  of  our 
age  only  to  give  a  piece  of  bread  and  cheese  ;  for  this 
was  all  that  my  Lady  Dulcinea  bestowed  on  me  when 
I  took  my  leave,  and,  by  the  way,  the  cheese  was  made 
of  sheep's  milk.' 

'She  is  marvellous  liberal,' said  the  Knight;  'and  if 
she  gave  thee  not  a  jewel  of  gold,  it  was  doubtless 
because  she  had  none  then  about  her.  But  that  will  be 
put  right  some  day.  Knowest  thou,  Sancho,  at  what 
I  am  astonished?  It  is  at  thy  sudden  return,  for  it 
seems  to  me  thou  wast  gone  and  hast  come  back 
again  in  the  air,  for  thou  hast  been  away  but  a  little 
more  than  three  days,  although  Toboso  is  more  than 
thirty  leagues  from  hence.  Therefore  I  do  believe 
that  the  wise  Enchanter,  who  takes  care  of  my  affairs 
and  is  my  friend,  must  have  helped  thee  to  travel 
without  thy  being  aware  of  it.  For  there  are  sages 
that  take  up  a  Knight  Errant  sleeping  in  his  bed,  and, 
without  knowing  how  or  in  what  manner,  he  awakes 
the  next  day  more  than  a  thousand  leagues  from  the 
place  where  he  fell  asleep.  For  otherwise  Knights 
Errant  could  not  help  one  another  in  perils  as  they 
•do  now.  For  it  may  be  that  one  is  fighting  in  the 
mountains  of  Armenia  with  some  dragon  or  fierce 
serpent,  and  is  at  the  point  of  death,  and,  just  when  he 
Jeast  expects  it,  he  sees  on  a  cloud,  or  in  a  chariot  of 


182      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


fire,  some  other  Knight,  his  friend,  who  a  little  before 
was  in  England,  who  helps  him  and  delivers  him  from 
danger.  And  all  this  is  done  by  the  craft  and  wisdom 
of  those  sage  Enchanters  who  take  care  of  valorous 
Knights.  But,  leaving  all  this  apart,  what  dost  thou 
think  I  should  do  about  my  Lady's  commands  to  go  and 
see  her  ? ' 

'  Tell  me,  good  your  Worship,'  replied  Sancho,  '  do  you 
intend  to  journey  to  Toboso  and  lose  so  rich  and  noble 
a  prize  as  this  Princess?  Peace!  take  my  advice  and 
marry  her  in  the  first  village  that  hath  a  parish  priest, 
or  let  the  Curate  do  it,  for  he  is  here,  and  remember 
the  old  saying,  "  A  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the 
bush." ' 

'  Look  you,  Sancho,'  said  his  Master,  'if  you  counsel 
me  to  marry,  to  the  end  that  I  may  be  King  when  I 
have  slain  the  Giant  and  be  able  to  give  you  an  Island, 
know  that  I  can  do  that  without  marrying,  for  I  will 
make  it  a  condition  that  upon  conquering  this  monster 
they  shall  give  me  a  portion  of  the  Kingdom,  although 
I  marry  not  the  Princess,  and  this  I  will  bestow  upon 
thee.' 

'  Let  it  be  so,  then,'  said  Sancho.  'And  trouble  not 
your  mind,  I  pray  you,  to  go  and  see  the  Lady  Dulcinea 
at  this  moment,  but  go  away  and  kill  the  Giant  and  let 
us  finish  off  this  job,  for  I  believe  it  will  prove  of  great 
honour  and  greater  profit.' 

'  I  believe,  Sancho,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'that  thou  art 
in  the  right,  and  I  will  follow  thy  advice  in  going  first 
with  the  Princess  rather  than  visiting  Dulcinea.' 


SANCHO  PANZA'S  STORY 


183 


At  this  moment  Master  Nicholas  the  Barber  called 
out  to  them  to  stay  awhile,  for  they  wished  to  halt  and 
drink  at  a  small  spring- hard  by.  Don  Quixote  stopped, 
to  Sancho's  very  great  content,  as  he  was  already  tired 
of  telling  so  many  lies,  and  feared  that  his  Master  would 
entrap  him  in  his  own  words.  For  although  he  knew 
that  Dulcinea  was  a  peasant  lass  of  Toboso,  yet  he  had 
never  seen  her  in  all  his  life. 


M 


What  happened  during  their  further  Journey 
towards  the  Inn 


They  all  dismounted  at  the  spring,  and  by  this  time 
Cardenio  had  dressed  himself  in  the  boy's  clothes  that 
Dorothea  had  worn,  which,  though  by  no  means  good, 
were  better  than  those  he  cast  off.  The  Curate  had 
brought  some  scanty  provisions  from  the  Inn,  and  they 
sat  down  near  the  spring  to  satisfy,  as  well  as  they 
could,  the  hunger  they  all  felt. 

Whilst  they  took  their  ease,  a  young  lad  passed  by, 
who  looked  very  earnestly  at  all  those  who  sat  round 
the  spring,  and  after  a  moment  ran  up  to  Don  Quixote, 
and  embracing  his  legs,  burst  into  tears,  crying:  'Ah, 

184 


JOURNEY  TOWARDS  THE  INN  1S5 


my  Lord,  do  not  you  know  me?  Look  well  upon  me. 
I  am  the  boy  Andrew  whom  you  unloosed  from  the  oak- 
tree  to  which  I  was  tied.' 

Don  Quixote  knew  him  at  once,  and,  taking  him  by 
the  band,  turned  to  those  who  were  present  and  said  : 
'  That  you  may  see  how  important  it  is  to  have  Knights 
Errant  in  the  world  to  set  right  the  wrongs  and  injuries 
which  are  done  by  insolent  and  wicked  men,  you  must 
know  that  a  few  days  ago,  as  I  rode  through  a  wood,  I 
beard  piteous  screams  and  cries  as  of  some  person  in 
sore  distress.  I  hastened  instantly  to  the  place,  and 
there  I  found  tied  to  an  oak  this  boy  whom  you  see  here, 
and  I  am  glad  that  he  is  here,  because  if  I  shall  not  say 
the  truth,  he  may  check  me.  He  was  tied  to  an  oak- 
tree,  stark  naked  from  the  waist  upward,  and  a  certain 
clown,  whom  I  afterwards  learned  to  be  his  master,  was 
beating  him  with  a  horse's  bridle.  As  soon  as  I  saw  him 
I  asked  the  master  the  reason  of  his  cruelty.  The 
Farmer  replied  that  he  was  beating  him  because  he  was 
his  servant,  and  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  carelessness 
due  rather  to  knavery  than  stupidity.  At  which  the  lad 
said,  "  Sir,  he  beats  me  only  because  I  ask  him  for  my 
wages."  The  Farmer  answered  with  many  excuses, 
which  I  heard  but  did  not  believe.  I  made  him  at  once 
untie  the  boy,  and  forced  him  to  swear  me  an  oath  that 
he  would  take  him  home  with  him  and  pay  him  every 
real  upon  the  nail.  Is  not  all  this  true,  son  Andrew? 
Answer,  nor  hesitate  in  anything.  Tell  these  gentle- 
men what  passed,  that  they  may  learn  how  necessary  it 
is  to  have  Knights  Errant  up  and  down  the  highways.' 


186      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


'  All  that  your  Worship  says  is  very  true,'  replied  the 
lad  ;  '  but  the  end  of  the  business  was  very  contrary  to 
what  you  imagine.' 

'  How  contrary  ?  '  asked  Don  Quixote.  '  Did  not  the 
clown  pay  thee,  then  ? ' 

'  He  not  only  did  not  pay  me,'  answered  the  boy,  '  but 
as  soon  as  you  had  passed  out  of  the  wood,  and  we  were 
alone  again,  he  tied  me  to  the  same  tree  and  gave  me 
afresh  so  many  blows  that  I  had  like  to  be  flayed  alive. 
And  at  each  blow  he  uttered  some  jest  to  make  a  mock 
of  your  Lordship,  and  if  I  had  not  felt  so  much  pain, 
I  could  have  found  it  in  my  heart  to  have  laughed  very 
merrily.  In  fact,  he  left  me  in  such  a  wretched  plight 
that  I  have  been  in  hospital  ever  since.  And  you  are  at 
fault  in  all  this,  for  if  you  had  ridden  on  your  way,  and 
not  come  meddling  in  other  folk's  affairs,  perhaps  my 
master  would  have  contented  himself  with  giving  me 
a  dozen  blows  or  so,  and  would  presently  have  let  me 
loose  and  paid  me  my  wages.  But,  because  you  abused 
him  so  harshly,  his  anger  was  aroused,  and  as  he  could 
not  revenge  himself  on  you,  as  soon  as  he  was  alone  he 
let  loose  the  storm  of  his  wrath  upon  me,  in  such  a 
manner  that  I  fear  I  shall  never  be  a  man  again  as  long 
as  I  live.' 

'  The  mischief  was,'  said  Don  Quixote,  '  in  my  going 
away,  for  I  should  not  have  departed  until  I  had  seen 
thee  paid.  For  I  might  well  have  known  that  no  churl 
will  keep  his  word  if  he  finds  that  it  does  not  suit  him 
to  keep  it.  But  yet,  Andrew,  thou  dost  remember  how 
I  swore  that  if  he  paid  thee  not,  I  would  return  and  seek 


JOURNEY  TOWARDS  THE  INN  187 

him  out,  and  find  him  though  he  should  hide  himself  in 
the  belly  of  a  whale.' 

'  That  is  true/  replied  Andrew,  '  but  it  is  all  of  no 
use.' 

'  Thou  shalt  see  whether  it  is  of  use  or  no  presently,' 
said  Don  Quixote,  and  so  saying  he  got  up  hastily  and 
commanded  Sancho  to  bridle  Rozinante,  who  was  feed- 
ing whilst  they  did  eat. 

Dorothea  asked  him  what  it  was  he  meant  to  do.  He 
answered  that  he  meant  to  go  in  search  of  the  Farmer 
and  punish  him  for  his  bad  conduct,  and  make  him  pay 
Andrew  to  the  last  farthing,  in  spite  of  all  the  churls  in 
the  world.  To  which  she  answered,  entreating  him  to 
remember  that  he  could  not  deal  with  any  other  adven- 
ture, according  to  his  promise,  until  he  had  finished  hers; 
and  as  he  knew  this  better  than  any  one  else,  he  must 
restrain  his  anger  until  he  returned  from  her  Kingdom. 

'  That  is  true,'  answered  Don  Quixote  ;  'and  Andrew 
must  have  patience  until  my  return,  for  I  once  more 
vow  and  promise  anew  never  to  rest  until  he  be  satisfied 
and  paid.' 

'  I  do  not  believe  these  vows,'  said  Andrew  ;  '  I  would 
rather  just  now  have  as  much  money  as  would  help  me 
on  my  way  to  Seville  than  all  the  revenge  in  the  world. 
Give  me  something  to  eat,  and  let  me  go,  and  may 
all  Knights  Errant  be  as  erring  to  themselves  as  they 
have  been  with  me.' 

Sancho  took  out  of  his  bag  a  piece  of  bread  and 
cheese,  and,  giving  it  to  the  lad,  said :  '  Take  it,  brother 
Andrew,  for  each  of  us  has  a  share  in  your  misfortune.' 


iSS      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


'  What  share  have  you  in  it  ? '  asked  Andrew. 

'  This  piece  of  bread  and  cheese  which  I  give  thee/ 
said  Sancho,  '  for  no  one  knows  whether  I  shall  have 
need  of  it  again  or  not.  For  you  must  know,  my  friend, 
that  we  Squires  to  Knights  Errant  suffer  great  hunger 
and  ill-luck,  and  many  things  which  are  better  felt  than 
told/ 

Andrew  laid  hold  of  his  bread  and  cheese,  and,  seeing 
that  no  one  gave  him  anything  else,  bowed  his  head  and 
went  on  his  way.  And  as  he  went  he  turned  to  Don 
Quixote  and  said  :  '  I  pray  you,  Sir  Knight  Errant,  if 
you  meet  me  again,  although  you  should  see  me  being 
cut  to  pieces,  do  not  come  to  my  aid,  but  leave  me  to  my 
ill  fate.  For  it  cannot  be  so  great  but  that  greater  will 
result  from  your  help,  and  may  you  and  all  the  Knights 
Errant  that  ever  were  born  in  the  world  keep  your 
paths  away  from  mine.' 

Don  Quixote  started  up  to  chastise  him,  but  he  set  off 
running  so  fast  that  no  one  tried  to  pursue  him.  The 
Knight  was  greatly  ashamed  at  Andrew's  story,  and  the 
others  had  much  ado  not  to  laugh  outright,  and  so  put 
him  to  utter  confusion. 

When  they  had  finished  their  dinner,  they  saddled  and 
went  to  horse  once  more,  and  travelled  all  that  day  and 
the  next  without  any  adventure  of  note,  until  they 
arrived  at  the  Inn,  which  was  the  dread  and  terror  of 
Sancho  Panza,  and  though  he  would  rather  not  have 
entered  it,  yet  he  could  not  avoid  doing  so.  The  Inn- 
keeper, the  Hostess,  her  daughter,  and  Maritornes, 
seeing  Don  Quixote  and  Sancho  return,  went  out  to 


JOURNEY  TOWARDS  THE  INN  189 

meet  them  with  tokens  of  great  love  and  joy.  The 
Knight  returned  their  compliments  with  grave  courtesy, 
and  bade  them  prepare  a  better  bed  than  they  gave  him 
the  last  time. 

'Sir/  said  the  Hostess,  '  if  you  would  pay  us  better 
than  the  last  time,  we  would  give  you  one  fit  for  a 
Prince/ 

Don  Quixote  answered  that  he  would,  and  they  pre- 
pared a  reasonable  good  bed  for  him  in  the  same  room 
where  he  lay  before.  Then  he  went  off  to  bed  at  once, 
because  he  was  tired  and  weary,  both  in  body  and 
mind. 

He  had  scarcely  locked  himself  in,  when  the  Hostess 
ran  at  the  Barber,  seizing  him  by  the  beard,  and  cried  : 
'  By  my  troth,  but  my  tail  shall  no  longer  be  used  for  a 
beard,  for  the  comb  which  used  to  be  kept  in  the  tail 
gets  tossed  about  the  floor,  and  it  is  a  shame.' 

But  the  Barber  would  not  give  it  up  for  all  her 
tugging,  until  the  Curate  told  him  to  let  her  have  it, 
for  there  wras  no  longer  any  need  of  a  disguise,  as  the 
Barber  might  now  appear  in  his  own  shape,  and  tell  Don 
Quixote  that  after  he  had  been  robbed  by  the  galley 
slaves  he  had  fled  for  refuge  to  that  Inn.  As  for  the 
Princess's  Squire,  if  the  Knight  should  ask  after  him, 
they  could  say  he  had  been  sent  on  before  to  her  King- 
dom, to  announce  to  her  subjects  that  she  was  return- 
ing", bringing  with  her  one  who  should  give  them  all 
their  freedom.  On  this  the  Barber  gave  up  the  tail  to 
the  landlady,  together  with  the  other  things  they  had 
borrowed. 


i9o      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


All  the  people  of  the  Inn  were  struck  with  Doro- 
thea's beauty  and  the  comeliness  of  the  shepherd 
Cardenio.  The  Curate  made  them  get  ready  a  dinner 
of  the  best  the  Inn  could  produce,  and  the  Innkeeper,  in 
hope  of  better  payment,  prepared  them  very  speedily 
a  o-ood  dinner.  All  this  was  done  whilst  Don  Quixote 
slept,  and  they  agreed  not  to  wake  him,  for  they  thought 
it  would  do  him  more  good  to  sleep  than  to  eat. 


THE  EXTRAORDINARY  BATTLE  191 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Of  the  extraordinary  Battle  which  Don  Quixote 
waged  with  what  he  took  to  be  a  Giant 

Don  Quixote  was  still  asleep  when  the  dinner  was 
served,  and  during  dinner — the  Innkeeper,  his  wife,  his 
daughter,  and  Maritornes  being  there,  as  well  as  all  the 
travellers — they  talked  of  Don  Quixote's  strange  craze, 
and  of  the  state  in  which  they  had  found  him.  The 
Hostess  told  them  of  what  had  happened  between  him 
and  the  Carrier,  and  glancing  round  to  see  if  Sancho 
were  present,  and  not  seeing  him,  she  told  them  the 
story  of  his  being  tossed  in  the  blanket,  to  the  no  small 
entertainment  of  all  the  company. 

The  Curate  told  him  it  was  the  books  of  Knighthood 
that  Don  Quixote  had  read  that  had  turned  his  head. 

'  I  know  not  how  that  can  be,'  said  the  Innkeeper,  'for 
to  my  thinking  there  is  no  finer  reading  in  the  world  ; 
and  when  it  is  harvest-time,  the  reapers  here  often 
collect  during  the  midday  heat,  and  one  who  can  read 
takes  one  of  these  books  in  hand,  while  some  thirty  of 
us  get  round  him,  and  sit  listening  with  so  much  delight 
that  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  be  hearing  such 
stories  day  and  night.' 


192      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


4  And  I  think  well  of  them,  too,'  said  the  Hostess,  'for 
when  the  reading  is  going  on,  you  are  so  full  of  it  that 
you  forget  to  scold  me,  and  I  have  a  good  time  of  it.' 

'Ah,'  said  her  daughter,  'I  too  listen,  and  though  I 
like  not  the  fights  which  please  my  father,  yet  the 
lamentations  which  the  Knights  make  when  they  are 
away  from  their  Ladies  make  me  weep  for  pity,  and  I 
enjoy  that.' 

'We  have  need  here,'  said  the  Curate,  'of  our  friends, 
the  old  woman  and  the  Niece.  Beware,  my  good  Host, 
of  these  books,  and  take  care  that  they  carry  you  not  on 
the  road  they  have  taken  Don  Quixote.' 

'  Not  so,'  said  the  Innkeeper,  '  I  shall  not  be  such  a 
fool  as  to  turn  Knight  Errant ;  for  I  see  well  enough 
that  it  is  not  the  fashion  now  to  do  as  they  used  to  do  in 
the  times  when  these  famous  Knights  roamed  about  the 
world.    All  that  is  of  no  use  nowadays.' 

Sancho  came  in  in  the  midst  of  this,  and  was  amazed 
to  hear  them  say  that  Knights  Errant  now  were  of  no 
use,  and  that  books  of  Knighthood  were  full  of  follies 
and  lies,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  see  the  end  of  this 
voyage  of  his  Master,  and  if  that  did  not  turn  out  as 
happily  as  he  expected,  to  return  home  to  his  wife  and 
children  and  to  his  former  labours. 

At  this  moment  a  noise  came  from  the  room  where 
Don  Quixote  was  lying,  and  Sancho  went  hastily  to  see 
if  his  Master  wanted  anything. 

In  a  few  moments  he  returned,  rushing  wildly  back, 
and  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice  :  '  Come,  good  Sirs, 
quickly,  and  help  my  Master,  who  is  engaged  in  one  cf 


THE  EXTRAORDINARY  BATTLE 


l9?y 


the  most  terrible  battles  my  eyes  have  ever  seen.  I 
swear  he  has  given  the  Giant,  the  enemy  of  my  Lady, 
the  Princess  Micomicona,  such  a  cut,  that  he  has  sliced 
his  head  clean  off  like  a  turnip.' 

'  What  sayest  thou,  friend  ?  '  said  the  Curate.  '  Art 
thou  in  thy  wits,  Sancho  ?  How  can  it  be  as  you  say, 
when  the  Giant  is  at  least  two  thousand  leagues  from 
here  ? ' 

By  this  time  they  heard  a  marvellous  great  noise 
within  the  chamber,  and  Don  Quixote  shouting  out : 
'  Hold,  thief,  scoundrel,  rogue!  now  I  have  thee,  and 
thy  scimitar  shall  not  avail  thee  ! ' 

And  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  strikino-  a  number  of 
mighty  blows  on  the  walls. 

'Do  not  stand  there  listening,'  cried  Sancho,  '  but  go 
in  and  part  the  fray,  or  aid  my  Master.  Though  I 
think  it  will  not  now  be  necessary,  for  doubtless  the 
Giant  is  dead  by  now,  and  giving  an  account  of  the  ill 
.  life  he  led  ;  for  I  saw  his  blood  was  all  about  the  house 
and  his  head  cut  off,  which  is  as  big  as  a  great  wine- 
bag.' 

■  May  I  be  hewed  in  pieces,'  cried  the  Innkeeper  on 
hearing  this,  '  if  Don  Quixote  has  not  been  slashing  at 
one  of  the  skins  of  red  wine  that  are  standing  filled  at 
his  bed  head,  and  the  wine  that  is  spilt  must  be  what 
this  fellow  takes  for  blood.' 

So  saying  he  ran  into  the  room,  and  the  rest  followed 
him,  and  found  Don  Quixote  in  the  strangest  guise 
imaginable.  He  was  in  his  shirt,  which  did  not  reach 
to  his  knees.    His  legs  were  very  long  and  lean,  covered 

N 


i94      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


with  hair,  and  not  over  clean.  On  his  head  he  wore  a 
greasy  red  nightcap  which  belonged  to  the  Innkeeper. 
Round  his  left  arm  he  had  folded  the  blanket  from  off 
his  bed,  at  which  Sancho  gazed  angrily,  for  he  owed  that 
blanket  a  grudge.  In  his  right  hand  he  gripped  his 
naked  sword,  with  which  he  laid  round  about  him  with 
many  a  thwack,  shouting  out  as  if  indeed  he  was  at 
battle  with  some  terrible  Giant.  The  best  sport  of  all 
was  that  his  eyes  were  not  open,  for  he  was  indeed 
asleep,  and  dreaming  that  he  was  fighting  a  Giant.  For 
his  imagination  was  so  full  of  the  adventure  in  front  of 
him  that  he  dreamed  that  he  had  already  arrived  at 
Micornicon,  and  was  there  in  combat  with  his  enemy  ; 
and  he  had  given  so  many  blows  to  the  wine-bags,  sup- 
posing them  to  be  the  Giant,  that  the  whole  chamber 
flowed  with  wine. 

When  the  Innkeeper  saw  this,  he  flew  into  such  a  rage 
that  he  set  upon  Don  Quixote  with  his  clenched  fist, 
and  began  to  pummel  him,  so  that  if  Cardenio  and  the 
Curate  had  not  pulled  him  off,  he  would  have  finished 
the  battle  of  the  Giant  altogether.  In  spite  of  this,  the 
poor  Knight  did  not  awake  until  the  Barber  got  a  great 
kettleful  of  cold  water  from  the  well,  and  threw  it  right 
over  him,  when  Don  Quixote  woke  up,  but  even  then 
did  not  understand  where  he  was. 

As  for  Sancho,  he  went  up  and  down  the  floor, 
searching  for  the  Giant's  head,  and  seeing  he  could  not 
find  it,  said  :  £  Now  I  know  that  everything  I  see  in 
this  house  is  enchanted,  for  this  head  is  not  to  be  seen 
here,  though  I  myself  saw   it   cut  off  with  my  own 


THE  EXTRAORDINARY  BATTLE  195 


eyes,  and  the  blood  running  from  the  body  as  from  a 
fountain.' 

'  What  blood  or  what  fountain  dost  thou  cackle  of 
here  ? '  cried  the  Innkeeper.  '  Thou  thief!  dost  thou  not 
see  that  the  blood  and  the  fountain  is  no  other  thinor 
but  the  wine-bags  which  are  ripped  open,  and  the  red 
wine  which  swims  up  and  down  the  room  ? ' 

'  I  know  nothing  but  this,'  replied  Sancho,  '  that  if  I 
cannot  find  the  Giant's  head,  my  Earldom  will  dissolve 
like  salt  cast  into  water.'  For  indeed  Sancho  awake 
was  worse  than  his  Master  asleep,  so  greatly  had  his 
Master's  promises  turned  his  brain. 

The  Innkeeper  was  at  his  wits'  end  at  seeing  the 
stupidity  of  the  Squire  and  the  mischief  done  by  his 
Master,  but  he  determined  that  they  should  not  as  before 
go  away  without  paying ;  that  Knighthood  should  be  no 
excuse  for  this,  and  he  would  make  them  pay  for  the 
very  patches  in  the  wine-skins  that  had  been  ruined. 

All  this  time  the  Curate  was  holding  Don  Quixote's 
hands,  who,  believing  that  he  had  finished  the  adventure 
and  was  in  the  presence  of  the  Princess  Micomicona 
herself,  fell  on  his  knees  before  the  Curate,  and  said  : 
'  Your  Highness,  exalted  and  beautiful  Lady,  may  live 
from  henceforth  secure  from  any  danger  that  this 
wretched  Giant  might  have  done  to  you ;  and  I  am  also 
freed  this  day  from  the  promise  I  made  to  you,  seeing 
that  I  have,  with  the  assistance  of  her  through  whose 
favour  I  live  and  breathe,  so  happily  completed  my 
labour.' 

'  Did  I  not  say  so  ? '  cried  Sancho,  hearing  his  Master.. 


i95      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


4 1  was  not  drunk.  My  Master  has  salted  the  Giant 
down  this  time,  and  my  Earldom  is  secure.' 

Who  could  help  laughing  at  the  follies  of  the  two, 
Master  and  man?  All  of  them  laughed  except  the  Inn- 
keeper, who  burst  out  into  fits  of  anger  ten  times  worse 
than  before. 

At  length  the  Barber,  Cardenio,  and  the  Curate 
managed,  not  without  much  ado,  to  get  Don  Quixote  to 
bed  again,  and  presently  left  him  sleeping,  with  every 
sign  of  being  worn  out.  They  let  him  sleep,  and  went 
out  to  comfort  Sancho  Panza,  whose  grief  was  great  at 
not  finding  the  Giant's  head.  But  they  had  more  to  do 
to  pacify  the  Innkeeper,  who  was  almost  out  of  his  wits 
at  the  sudden  death  of  his  wine-skins. 

His  wife,  too,  was  running  up  and  down,  scolding  and 
crying  out :  '  Alas,  the  unlucky  hour  when  this  Knight 
Errant  came  to  my  house  !  Would  that  mine  eyes  had 
never  seen  him,  for  he  has  cost  me  dear.  The  last  time 
he  was  here  he  went  away  scot  free  for  his  supper,  bed, 
straw,  and  barley  for  himself,  his  man,  his  horse,  and  his 
ass,  because  he  said  he  was  a  Knight  Errant.  Then  for 
his  sake  the  other  gentlemen  came  and  took  away  my 
good  tail,  and  have  returned  it  damaged,  and  now  he 
breaks  my  wine-skins  and  spills  the  wine.  I  wish  I 
may  see  as  much  of  his  blood  spilt.'  And  backed  up 
by  Maritornes,  the  good  Innkeeper's  wife  continued  her 
lamentations  with  o-reat  fury. 

At  length  the  Curate  quelled  the  storm,  promising  to 
satisfy  them  for  the  wine  and  the  skins,  and  also  for  the 
damage  to  the  tail,  about  which  there  was  so  much  fuss. 


THE  EXTRAORDINARY  BATTLE  197 


Dorothea  comforted  Sancho,  telling  him  that  as  soon  as 
ever  it  was  made  certain  that  his  Master  had  slain  the 
Giant,  and  placed  her  safely  in  her  Kingdom,  she  would 
o-ive  him  the  best  Earldom  she  had. 

■o 

With  this  he  was  consoled,  and  told  her  that  he  him- 
self had  seen  the  Giant's  head  cut  off,  and  that  it  had  a 
beard  which  reached  down  to  his  girdle,  and  that  if  the 
beard  could  not  now  be  found  it  was  because  the  affairs 
of  this  house  were  all  guided  by  enchantment,  as  he 
knew  to  his  cost  by  what  had  happened  to  himself  in  his 
last  visit. 

Dorothea  replied  that  she  was  of  the  same  opinion, 
and  bade  him  be  of  good  cheer,  since  all  would  be  well 
ended  to  his  heart's  desire. 


Which  treats  of  other  rare  Adventures  which 
happened  at  the  Inn 


Later  in  the  clay  the  Innkeeper,  who  was  standing 
at  the  door,  cried  out :  '  Here  is  a  fine  troop  of  guests 
coming.     If  they  stop  here,  we  may  sing  and  rejoice.' 
'  Who  are  they  ?  '  asked  Cardenio. 

'  Four  men  on  horseback,'  answered  the  Innkeeper, 
'  with  lances  and  targets,  and  all  with  black  masks  on 
their  faces.  With  them  comes  a  woman  dressed  in 
white,  on  a  side-saddle,  and  her  face  also  masked,  and 
two  lackeys  that  run  with  them  on  foot.' 

'  Are  they  near  ?  '  asked  the  Curate. 

198 


ADVENTURES  AT  THE  INN 


So  near/  replied  the  Innkeeper,  *  that  they  are  now 
arriving.' 

Hearing  this,  Dorothea  veiled  her  face,  and  Cardenio 
went  into  Don  Quixote's  room  ;  and  they  had  hardly 
time  to  do  this  when  the  whole  party,  of  whom  the 
Innkeeper  had  spoken,  entered  the  Inn.  The  four  who 
were  on  horseback  were  of  comely  and  gallant  bearing, 
and,  having  dismounted,  went  to  help  down  the  Lady  on 
the  side-saddle  ;  and  one  of  them,  taking  her  in  his  arms, 
placed  her  upon  a  chair  that  stood  at  the  door  of  the 
room  into  which  Cardenio  had  entered.  All  this  while 
neither  she  nor  they  took  off  their  masks,  or  said  a 
word,  only  the  Lady,  as  she  sank  into  the  chair,  breathed 
a  deep  sigh,  and  let  fall  her  arms  as  one  who  was  sick 
and  faint.  The  lackeys  led  away  the  horses  to  the 
stable. 

The  Curate,  seeing  and  noting  all  this,  and  curious 
to  know  who  they  were  that  came  to  the  Inn  in  such 
strange  attire  and  keeping  so  close  a  silence,  went 
after  one  of  the  lackeys,  and  asked  of  him  what  he 
wanted  to  learn. 

'  Faith,  Sir,  I  cannot  tell  you  who  these  are,  but 
they  seem  to  be  persons  of  good  quality,  especially  he 
who  went  to  help  the  Lady  dismount.  The  rest  obey 
him  in  all  things.' 

'  And  the  Lady — who  is  she  ?  '  asked  the  Curate. 

'  I  cannot  tell  you  that  neither,'  replied  the  lackey, 
■for  I  have  not  once  seen  her  face  during  all  the 
journey,  though  I  have  often  heard  her  groan  and  utter 
deep  sighs.' 


N 


200      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


'  And  have  you  heard  the  name  of  any  of  them  ? ' 
asked  the  Curate. 

'Not  I,  indeed,'  replied  the  man ;  ' they  travel  in 
silence,  and  nothing  is  heard  but  the  sighs  and  sobs  of 
the  poor  Lady,  and  it  is  our  firm  belief  that,  wherever 
she  is  going,  she  is  going  against  her  will.' 

'  May  be  it  is  so,'  said  the  Curate,  and  he  returned  to 
the  Inn 

Dorothea,  who  heard  the  disguised  Lady  sigh  so 
mournfully,  moved  by  pity,  drew  near  to  her  and 
asked:  'What  ails  you,  good  Madam,  for  I  offer  you 
my  service  and  good-will,  and  would  help  you  as  much 
as  lies  in  my  power  ?  ' 

To  this  the  unhappy  Lady  made  no  reply  ;  and  though 
Dorothea  again  spoke  kindly  to  her,  yet  she  sat  silent 
and  spoke  not  a  word. 

At  length  the  masked  gentleman  came  across  and 
said  to  Dorothea  :  '  Lady,  do  not  trouble  yourself  to 
offer  anything  to  that  woman  ;  she  is  of  a  most  ungrate- 
ful nature,  and  not  wont  to  return  any  courtesy.' 

'  I  have  never  spoken,'  said  the  silent  Lady,  '  since 
I  am  too  unhappy  to  do  so,  and  am  almost  drowned  in 
my  misfortunes.' 

Cardenio  overheard  these  words  very  clearly  and 
distinctly,  for  he  was  close  to  her  who  uttered  them,  the 
door  of  Don  Quixote's  room  being  the  only  thing  that 
separated  them,  and  he  cried  aloud  :  What  is  this  I 
hear  ?    What  voice  is  this  that  hath  touched  mine  ear  ?  ' 

The  Lady,  moved  with  a  sudden  passion,  turned  her 
head  at  these  cries,  and  as  she  could  not  see  who 


ADVENTURES  AT  THE  INN 


20I 


uttered  them,  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  would  have 
entered  the  room,  but  the  gentleman  stopped  her  and 
would  not  let  her  move  a  step. 

This  sudden  movement  loosened  the  mask,  which 
fell  from  her  face,  discovering  her  marvellous  beauty. 
But  her  countenance  was  wan  and  pale,  and  she  turned 
her  eyes  from  place  to  place  as  one  distracted,  which 
caused  Dorothea  and  the  rest  to  behold  her  with  a 
vast  pity. 

The  gentleman  held  her  fast  by  the  shoulders,  and 
was  so  busied  that  he  could  not  hold  up  his  own  mask, 
which  fell  from  his  face,  and,  as  it  did  so,  Dorothea 
looked  up  and  discovered  that  it  was  her  lover,  Don 
Fernando. 

Scarce  had  she  known  him  than,  breathing  out  a  long 
and  most  pitiful  '  Alas  ! '  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart, 
she  fell  backward  in  a  swoon.  And  if  the  Barber  had 
not  been  by  good  chance  at  hand,  she  would  have  fallen 
on  the  ground  with  all  the  weight  of  her  body. 

The  Curate  removed  the  veil  from  her  face,  and 
cast  water  thereon,  and  Don  Fernando,  as  soon  as  he 
looked  upon  her,  turned  as  pale  as  death.  Cardenio, 
who  had  heard  the  moan  which  Dorothea  uttered,  as 
she  fell  fainting  on  the  floor,  came  out  of  the  room,  and 
saw  Don  Fernando  holding  his  beloved  Lucinda. 

All  of  them  held  their  peace  and  beheld  one  another ; 
Dorothea  looking  on  Don  Fernando,  Don  Fernando 
on  Cardenio,  Cardenio  on  Lucinda,  and  Lucincla  on 
Cardenio,  all  stood  dumb  and  amazed,  as  folk  that  knew 
not  what  had  befallen  them. 


202      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

Lucinda  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  '  Leave 
me,  Don  Fernando,'  she  cried,  '  for  the  sake  of  what  is 
due  to  yourself.  Let  me  cleave  to  the  wall  whose  ivy  I 
am,  to  his  support  from"  whom  neither  your  threats  nor 
your  promises  could  part  me.' 

By  this  time  Dorothea  had  come  to  herself,  and 
seeing  that  Don  Fernando  did  not  release  Lucinda, 
she  arose,  and  casting  herself  at  his  feet,  shed  a  flood 
of  crystal  tears  as  she  thus  addressed  him  :  'If  the 
sun  of  Lucinda's  beauty  hath  not  blinded  thine  eyes, 
know  that  she  who  is  kneeling  at  thy  feet  is  the  hapless 
and  miserable  Dorothea.  I  am  that  lowly  country  girl 
to  whom  thou  didst  promise  marriage.  Know,  my 
dear  Lord,  that  the  matchless  love  I  bear  thee  may 
make  amends  for  the  beauty  and  nobility  of  her  for 
whom  thou  dost  abandon  me.  Thou  canst  not  be  the 
beautiful  Lucinda's,  because  thou  art  mine  ;  nor  she 
thine,  for  she  belongs  to  Cardenio.  And  all  this  being 
so,  as  in  truth  it  is,  and  seeing  that  thou  art  as  good  as 
thou  art  noble,  wherefore  put  off  making  me  once  more 
happy  again  ?  Do  not  vex  the  declining  years  of  my 
parents,  who  have  ever  been  loyal  vassals  to  thine. 
For  remember,  whether  thou  wilt  or  no,  thou  must  ever 
remain  my  promised  husband.' 

These  and  many  other  reasons  did  the  orrieved 
Dorothea  use,  with  so  much  feeling  and  so  many  tears, 
that  all  who  were  present,  even  those  who  had  come 
with  Don  Fernando,  could  not  help  from  giving  her 
their  sympathy. 

As  for  Don  Fernando,  he  stood  gazing  fixedly  at 


ADVENTURES  AT  THE  INN 


Dorothea  for  some  time,  and  at  last,  overw  helmed  with 
remorse  and  admiration,  he  took  her  to  his  arms, 
saying  :  '  Thou  hast  vanquished,  O  beautiful  Dorothea. 
Thou  hast  vanquished  ! ' 

At  the  same  moment,  Cardenio,  who  had  stood  close 
to  Don  Fernando,  started  forward  to  catch  the  fainting 
Lucinda,  who  threw  both  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
crying:  'Thou,  and  thou  only,  art  my  Lord  and  Master.' 

Thus  were  the  true  lovers  all  united,  and  the  good 
Curate,  the  Barber,  and  even  Sancho  Panza  joined 
in  their  tears,  delighted  that  so  much  joy  had  taken 
the  place  of  so  much  misery.  As  for  Sancho,  he  ex- 
cused himself  afterwards  for  his  tears,  saying  he  wept 
only  because  he  saw  that  Dorothea  was  not  the  Queen 
of  Micomicona  as  he  had  imagined,  from  whom  he 
hoped  to  have  received  such  mighty  gifts  and  favours. 

Each  in  turn  told  his  or  her  story,  and  Don  Fernando 
gave  an  account  of  all  that  had  befallen  him  in  the 
city,  after  he  had  found  the  scroll  that  Lucinda  had 
written  in  which  she  declared  her  love  for  Cardenio. 

And  it  appeared  that,  the  day  after  the  interruption 
of  the  wedding,  Lucinda  had  secretly  departed  from 
her  father's  house,  and  had  fled  no  one  knew  whither ; 
but  within  a  few  months  Don  Fernando  had  learned 
that  she  was  in  a  certain  convent,  intending  to  remain 
there  all  the  days  of  her  life,  if  she  could  not  pass  them 
with  Cardenio.  As  soon  as  he  had  learned  that,  choosing 
three  gentlemen  to  aid  him,  he  went  to  the  place  where 
she  was.  One  day  he  surprised  her  walking  with  one 
of  the  nuns  in  the  cloisters,  and  carried  her  off  without 


204      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


giving  her  a  chance  to  resist.  From  there  they  brought 
her  to  a  certain  village,  where  they  disguised  them- 
selves, and  so  rode  on  until  they  came  to  the  Inn.  But 
Lucinda,  after  she  was  in  his  power,  did  nothing  but 
weep  and  sigh  without  speaking  a  word. 

Thus  in  silence  and  tears  had  they  reached  this  Inn, 
which  to  him  and  all  of  them  would  always  remain  the 
most  beautiful  place  in  the  world,  since  it  had  seen  the 
end  of  so  many  troubles,  and  brought  him  back  to  his 
own  true  love. 


Wherein  is  continued  the  History  of  the 
famous  Princess  Micomicona 


Sancho  gave  ear  to  what  he  heard  with  no  small  grief 
of  mind,  seeing  that  all  hopes  of  his  Earldom  vanished 
away  like  smoke,  and  the  fair  Princess  Micomicona  was 
turned  into  Dorothea,  whilst  his  Master  was  sound 
asleep,  careless  of  all  that  happened.  Dorothea  could 
not  believe  that  the  happiness  she  enjoyed  was  not  a 
dream.  Cardenio  and  Lucinda  were  of  a  similar  mind, 
and  Don  Fernando  was  truly  thankful  that  he  was  free 
from  the  dangerous  path  he  had  taken,  which  must  have 
ended  in  loss  of  all  honour  and  credit. 

In  a   word,  all  were  contented  and  happy.  The 

205 


2o6      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


Curate,  like  a  man  of  sense,  congratulated  every  one 
on  his  good  fortune  ;  but  she  that  kept  greatest  Jubilee 
and  joy  was  the  Hostess,  because  Cardenio  and  the 
Curate  had  promised  to  pay  all  the  damages  done  by 
Don  Quixote. 

Only  Sancho,  as  has  been  said,  was  unhappy  and 
sorrowful.  And  thus  he  went  with  a  melancholy  face  to 
his  Master,  who  was  then  just  awaking,  and  said  :  '  Your 
Worship,  Sir  Knight  of  the  Rueful  Countenance,  may 
well  sleep  on  as  long  as  you  please,  without  troubling 
yourself  to  kill  any  Giant,  or  restore  to  the  Princess 
her  Kingdom,  for  all  that  is  done  and  finished  already.' 

'That  I  well  believe,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  'for  I 
have  had  the  most  monstrous  and  terrible  battle  with 
that  Giant  that  ever  I  had  all  the  days  of  my  life ; 
and  yet  with  one  back  stroke,  swish,  I  tumbled  his 
head  to  the  ground,  and  his  blood  gushed  forth,  so  that 
streams  of  it  ran  along  the  earth  as  if  it  had  been  water.' 

'  As  if  it  had  been  red  wine,  your  Worship  might  have 
said,'  replied  Sancho,  'for  I  would  have  you  know,  if 
you  do  not  know  already,  that  the  dead  Giant  is  no 
other  than  a  ruined  wine-bag,  and  the  blood  six-and- 
twenty  gallons  of  red  wine.' 

'  What  sayest  thou,  madman  ? '  cried  Don  Quixote. 
'  Art  thou  in  thy  right  wits  ?  ' 

'Get  up,  Sir,'  said  Sancho,  'and  you  shall  see  yourself 
the  fine  piece  of  work  you  have  done,  and  what  we  have 
to  pay.  You  shall  behold  the  Queen  turned  into  a 
private  Lady,  called  Dorothea,  with  many  other  things 
that  may  well  astonish  you.' 


fHE  PRINCESS  MICOMICONA  207 


'  I  should  marvel  at  nothing,'  replied  Don  Quixote, 
'for  if  thou  rememberest  right,  I  told  thee,  the  other 
time  that  we  were  here,  how  all  that  happened  here  was 
done  by  enchantment,  and  it  would  be  no  wonder  if  it 
were  the  same  now.' 

'  I  should  believe  it  all,'  replied  Sancho,  '  if  my  tossing 
in  the  blanket  had  been  a  thing  of  that  sort.  Only 
it  was  not  so,  but  very  real  and  certain.  And  I  saw 
the  Innkeeper,  who  is  here  to  this  day,  hold  one  end  of 
the  blanket  and  toss  me  up  to.  the  sky  with  very  good 
grace  and  strength,  and  as  much  mirth  as  muscle.  And 
where  it  comes  to  knowing  persons,  I  hold,  though  I 
may  be  a  simpleton  and  a  sinner,  that  there  is  no 
enchantment,  but  only  bruising  and  bad  luck.' 

'Well,'  cried  Don  Quixote,  ■  time  will  show;  but  give 
me  my  clothes,  for  I  would  see  these  wonders  that  thou 
speakest  of  for  myself.' 

Sancho  gave  him  his  clothes,  and,  whilst  he  was 
making  him  ready,  the  Curate  told  Don  Fernando  and 
the  rest,  of  Don  Quixote's  mad  pranks,  and  the  plan 
he  had  used  to  get  him  away  from  the  Brown  Mountains, 
where  he  imagined  he  was  exiled  through  the  disdain 
of  his  Lady. 

The  Curate  told  them  further,  that  since  the  good 
fortune  of  the  Lady  Dorothea  prevented  them  carrying 
out  their  .scheme,  they  must  invent  some  other  way  of 
taking  him  home  to  his  village. 

Cardenio  offered  to  continue  the  adventure,  and  let 
Lucinda  take  Dorothea's  part. 

'  No,'  cried  Don  Fernando.    1  It  shall  not  be  so,  for 


2o8 


THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


I  will  have  Dorothea  herself  carry  out  her  plan,  and  if 
the  good  Knight's  home  is  not  far  from  here,  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  help  in  his  cure.' 

'It  is  not  more  than  two  days'  journey,'  said  the 
Curate. 

'  Even  if  it  were  more,'  replied  Don  Fernando,  '  I 
should  be  happy  to  make  the  journey  in  so  good  a 
cause.' 

At  this  moment  Don  Quixote  sallied  out,  completely 
armed  with  Mambrino's  helmet,  which  had  a  great  hole 
in  it,  on  his  head,  his  shield  on  his  arm,  and  leaning  on 
his  lance.  His  grotesque  appearance  amazed  Don 
Fernando  and  his  companions  very  much,  who  won- 
dered at  his  gaunt  face  so  withered  and  yellow7,  the 
strangeness  of  his  arms,  and  his  grave  manner  of 
proceeding. 

All  stood  silent  to  see  what  he  would  do,  whilst  the 
Knight,  casting  his  eyes  on  the  beautiful  Dorothea, 
with  great  gravity  and  calmness  spoke  as  follows  :  '  I 
am  informed,  beautiful  Lady,  by  this  my  Squire,  that 
your  greatness  has  come  to  an  end,  and  your  condi- 
tion is  destroyed.  For,  instead  of  being  a  Queen  and  a 
mighty  Princess,  you  are  now  become  a  private  damsel. 
If  this  has  been  done  by  the  special  order  of  that  sage 
magician,  the  King  your  Father,  because  he  dreaded 
that  I  could  not  give  you  all  necessary  help,  I  say 
that  he  does  not  know  half  his  art,  and  has  never  under- 
stood the  histories  of  knightly  adventures.  For  if 
he  had  read  them  with  the  attention  that  I  have,  he 
would   have  found  how  many   Knights  of  less  fame 


THE  PRINCESS  MICOMICONA  209 

than  myself  have  ended  far  more  desperate  adventures 
than  this,  for  it  is  no  great  matter  to  kill  a  Giant,  be 
he  ever  so  proud.  For  in  truth  it  is  not  so  many 
hours  since  I  myself  fought  with  one  ;  but  I  will  be 
silent,  lest  they  tell  me  I  lie.  Time,  the  detecter  of  all 
things,  will  disclose  it  when  we  least  expect.' 

'  Thou  foughtest  with  two  wine-bags,  not  with  a  Giant,' 
cried  the  Innkeeper. 

Don  Fernando  told  him  to  be  silent  and  not  to  inter- 
rupt Don  Quixote,  who  continued  his  speech  thus :  ' In 
fine,  I  say,  high  and  disinherited  Lady,  do  not  trouble 
if  your  Father  has  made  this  change  in  you,  for  there 
is  no  peril  so  great  on  earth  but  my  sword  shall  open  a 
way  through  it,  and  by  overthrowing  your  enemies'  head 
to  the  ground  I  shall  set  your  crown  on  your  own 
head  within  a  few  days.' 

Don  Quixote  said  no  more,  but  waited  for  the 
Princess's  answer.  She  knowing  Don  Fernando's 
wish  that  she  should  continue  to  carry  out  their  plan, 
answered  with  a  good  grace  and  pleasant  manner,  say- 
ing :  '  Whosoever  informed  you,  valorous  Knight  of 
the  Rueful  Countenance,  that  I  have  altered  and  trans- 
formed my  being,  hath  not  told  you  the  truth,  for  I 
am  the  very  same  to-day  as  I  was  yesterday.  True 
it  is  that  my  fortunes  have  somewhat  changed,  and 
given  me  more  than  I  hoped  for  or  could  wish  for,  but 
for  all  that  I  have  not  ceased  to  be  what  I  was  before, 
and  I  still  hope  to  have  the  aid  of  your  valorous  and 
invincible  arm.  Therefore,  good  my  Lord,  restore  to 
my  Father  his  honour,  and  believe  him  to  be  both  wise 

o 


2io      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


and  sagacious,  for  by  his  magic  he  has  found  me  a 
remedy  for  all  my  misfortunes.  For  I  believe  that  had 
it  not  been  for  you,  I  should  never  have  attained  the 
happiness  I  now  enjoy,  and  that  I  speak  the  truth 
these  good  gentlemen  will  bear  witness.  All  that  is 
now  wanted  is  that  to-morrow  morning  we  set  out  on 
our  journey.  As  for  the  conclusion  of  the  good  success 
I  hourly  expect,  that  I  leave  to  the  valour  of  your 
invincible  arm.' 

Thus  spoke  the  witty  Dorothea,  and  Don  Quixote, 
having  heard  her,  turned  to  Sancho  with  an  air  of  great 
indignation,  and  said  :  1  Now,  I  say  unto  thee,  Sancho, 
thou  art  the  veriest  little  rascal  in  all  Spain.  Tell  me, 
thief  and  vagabond,  didst  thou  not  tell  me  that  this 
Princess  was  turned  into  a  damsel,  and  that  she  was 
called  Dorothea?  And  that  the  head  that  I  slashed 
from  a  Giant's  shoulders,  was  a  wine-skin,  with  a 
thousand  other  follies,  that  threw  me  into  the  greatest 
confusion  I  was  ever  in  in  my  life  ?  I  vow,'  he  con- 
tinued, looking  up  to  the  heavens  and  crashing  his  teeth 
together,  '  I  vow  that  I  am  about  to  make  such  a  havoc 
of  thee,  as  shall  beat  some  wit  into  the  pates  of  all  the 
lying  Squires  that  shall  hereafter  ever  serve  Knights 
Errant  in  this  world.' 

'  I  pray  you  have  patience,  good  my  Lord,'  answered 
Sancho,  '  for  it  may  well  befall  me  to  be  deceived  . 
touching  the  change  of  the  Lady  and  Princess  Micomi- 
cona.  But  in  what  touches  the  Giant's  head,  or  at 
least  the  cutting  of  the  wine-bags,  and  that  the  blood 
was  but  red  wine,  I  am  not  deceived,  I  swear.    For  the 


THE  PRINCESS  MICOMICONA  211 

bags  lie  wounded  there  at  your  own  bed-head,  and  the 
red  wine  hath  made  a  lake  in  your  room  :  and  all  this 
you  will  know,  when  his  honour  the  Landlord  asks  you 
to  pay  the  damages.' 

'  I  tell  thee,  Sancho,  thou  art  a  blockhead/  said  Don 
Quixote.    '  Pardon  me,  we  have  had  enough  of  it.' 

'  Enough,  indeed/  said  Don  Fernando,  '  and  let  me 
entreat  you  to  say  no  more  of  it.  Seeing  my  Lady  the 
Princess  says  she  will  go  away  to-morrow,  as  it  is  too 
late  to  depart  to-day,  let  us  agree  to  spend  this  evening 
in  pleasant  discourse,  and  to-morrow  we  will  attend  the 
worthy  Knight,  Don  Quixote,  and  be  eye-witnesses  of 
the  valorous  feats  of  arms  he  shall  do  in  carrying  out 
this  adventure.' 

It  was  now  time  for  supper,  and  they  all  sat  down 
at  a  long  table,  for  there  was  not  a  square  or  round 
one  in  the  whole  house.  And  they  gave  the  principal 
end  to  Don  Quixote,  though  he  did  all  he  could  to 
refuse  it ;  but  when  he  had  taken  it,  he  commanded 
that  the  Lady  Micomicona  should  sit  at  his  elbow,  as 
he  was  her  champion.  The  others  being  placed  in 
due  order,  they  all  enjoyed  a  pleasant  supper,  listening 
to  the  wise,  strange  discourse  that  Don  Quixote  held 
upon  his  favourite  subject  of  knightly  adventures. 


2i2      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Of  the  strange  Enchantment  of  the  Unfortunate 

Knight 

After  supper  it  appeared  that  there  were  not  sufficient 
rooms  in  the  house  for  all  the  company,  so  the  ladies 
retired  to  the  best  apartments,  whilst  the  gentlemen 
sought  rest  where  they  could  get  it  with  the  least 
discomfort.  Sancho  Panza  found  a  bed  on  his  Ass's 
harness,  where  he  was  soon  fast  asleep,  and  Don  Quixote 
satisfied  his  sense  of  duty  by  arming  himself,  mounting 
Rozinante,  and  riding  round  the  Inn,  that  he  might  act 
as  sentinel  of  this  imaginary  Castle. 

In  a  short  time  all  the  Inn  was  drowned  in  a  deep 
silence.  Only  the  Innkeeper's  daughter  and  Maritornes 
were  not  asleep,  but  knowing  very  well  Don  Quixote's 
humour,  and  that  he  was  armed  on  horseback  outside 
the  Inn  keeping  guard,  the  two  agreed  to  play  him  some 
trick,  or  at  least  to  pass  ?  little  time  listening  to  his 
nonsense. 

It  so  happened  that  there  was  not  any  window  in  all 
the  Inn  which  looked  out  into  the  fields,  but  only  a  hole  in 
the  barn,  out  of  which  they  were  used  to  throw  the  straw. 
To  this  hole  came  the  two  damsels,  and  saw  Don  Quixote 


THE  STRANGE  ENCHANTMENT  213 


mounted  and  leaning  on  his  lance,  breathing  forth  ever 
and  anon  such  doleful  and  deep  sighs,  that  it  seemed 
as  if  each  one  of  them  would  tear  his  very  soul.  They 
noted  besides  how  he  said  in  a  soft  and  amorous  voice  : 
'  O  my  Lady  Dulcinea  of  Toboso,  the  perfection  of  all 
beauty,  the  sum-total  of  discretion,  the  treasury  of  grace, 
the  storehouse  of  virtue,  the  ideal  of  all  that  is  worthy, 
modest,  or  delightful  in  all  the  world  !  What  might  thy 
Ladyship  be  doing  at  this  present  ?  Art  thou  perhaps 
thinking  of  thy  captive  Knight  who  most  readily  exposeth 
himself  to  so  many  dangers  for  thy  sake  ?  Give  me 
tidings  of  her,  O  thou  Moon !  Mayhap  thou  dost  now 
look  down  upon  her  pacing  some  gallery  of  her  sumptuous 
palace,  or  leaning  against  some  balcony  thinking  what 
glory  she  shall  give  me  for  my  pains,  what  quiet  to  my 
cares,  what  life  to  my  death,  and  what  reward  for  my 
services.  And  thou,  O  Sun,  who  art  even  now  busy 
saddling  thy  horses  to  set  off  betimes  and  go  forth  and 
see  my  Lady,  I  beseech  thee  when  thou  seest  her  to 
salute  her  on  my  behalf,  but  take  care  that  thou  dost  not 
kiss  her  on  her  face  lest  thou  provokest  my  jealousy.' 

So  far  the  Knight  had  proceeded  when  the  Inn- 
keeper's daughter  began  to  call  him  softly  to  her, 
saying :  '  Sir  Knight,  approach  a  little  way,  if  you 
please.' 

At  this  signal  Don  Quixote  turned  his  head  and  saw 
by  the  light  of  the  moon,  which  shined  then  very  clearly, 
that  they  beckoned  him  from  the  hole  in  the  barn,  which 
he  imagined  to  be  a  fair  window  full  of  iron  bars  o-ilded 
in  costly  fashion  with  gold,  fit  for  so  rich  a  Castle  as  he 


y 


2i4      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


imagined  that  Inn  to  be.  In  a  moment  he  believed,  in 
his  strange  fancy,  that  the  beautiful  damsel,  daughter  to 
the  Lord  of  the  Castle,  conquered  by  love  of  him,  was 
come  to  have  speech  with  him. 

In  this  fancy,  and  because  he  would  not  show  himself 
discourteous  and  ungrateful,  he  turned  Rozinante  about 
and  came  over  to  the  hole,  and  then,  having  beheld  the 
two  damsels,  he  said  :  *  I  take  pity  on  you,  beautiful 
Lady,  that  you  have  fixed  your  love  where  it  is  not 
possible  to  find  another's  in  return.  Nor  must  you 
blame  this  miserable  Knight  Errant,  whom  love  hath 
wholly  disabled  from  paying  his  addresses  to  any  other 
than  to  her  who  at  first  sight  became  the  Lady  of  his 
choice.  Pardon  me,  therefore,  good  Lady,  and  retire 
yourself  to  your  room,  and  be  pleased  to  say  no  more  to 
me,  that  I  may  not  appear  ungrateful  to  you.  And  if, 
of  the  love  you  bear  me,  you  can  find  me  any  other  way 
wherein  I  may  serve  you,  demand  it  boldly,  for  I  swear 
to  pleasure  you  in  this,  even  though  my  task  be  to  bring 
you  a  lock  of  Medusa's  hairs,  which  are  all  of  snakes,  or 
to  capture  the  beams  of  the  sun  in  a  phial  of  glass/ 

'  My  Lady  needs  none  of  these  things,  Sir  Knight,' 
answered  Maritornes. 

1  What  doth  she  then  want,  discreet  dame  ? '  asked 
Don  Quixote.  v 

'Only  one  of  your  fair  hands,'  said  Maritornes,  'that 
she  may  fulfil  the  desire  that  brought  her  to  this  window 
with  so  great  danger  to  herself,  that  if  her  Lord  and 
Father  knew  of  it,  the  least  he  would  do  would  be  to 
slice  off  her  ear.' 


THE  STRANGE  ENCHANTMENT  215 


4  He  had  best  beware  of  what  he  does,'  answered  Don 
Quixote,  'unless  he  would  make  the  most  disastrous  end 
that  ever  father  made  in  this  world,  for  having  laid 
violent  hands  on  the  delicate  limbs  of  his  amorous 
daughter.' 

Maritornes  had  no  doubt  but  that  Don  Quixote 
would  give  up  his  hand  as  he  was  requested,  and,  having 
made  up  her  mind  what  she  would  do,  she  went  down 
into  the  stable,  and  fetched  out  Sancho  Panza's  Ass's 
halter.  With  this  she  returned  again  as  quickly  as 
possible,  and  came  to  the  hole  just  as  Don  Quixote  had 
set  his  feet  upon  Rozinante's  saddle  that  he  might  the 
better  reach  the  barred  windows  at  which  he  thought  the 
lovesick  damsel  was  Standing. 

And  as  he  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  her  he  cried  : 
'  Hold,  Lady,  this  hand,  or,  as  I  may  better  say,  this 
scourge  of  evildoers.  Hold,  I  say,  this  hand,  which  no 
other  woman  ever  touched  before,  not  even  she  herself 
who  holds  entire  possession  of  my  whole  body.  Nor  do 
I  give  it  to  you  to  the  end  that  you  should  kiss  it,  but 
that  you  may  behold  the  strength  of  the  sinews,  the 
knitting  of  the  muscles,  the  large  and  swelling  veins, 
whereby  you  may  4earn  how  mighty  is  the  force  of  that 
arm  to  which  such  a  hand  is  knit.' 

'We  shall  see  that  presently,'  said  Maritornes. 

And  then,  making  a  running  knot  in  the  halter,  she 
cast  it  on  the  wrist  of  his  hand,  and,  coming  down  from 
the  hole,  she  tied  the  other  end  of  the  halter  very  fast  to 
the  bolt  of  the  hay-loft  door. 

Don  Quixote,  feeling  the  roughness  of  the  halter 

o 


216      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


about  his  wrist,  said  :  'It  seems  that  you  rather  rasp 
than  clasp  my  hand,  but  yet  I  pray  you  not  to  handle  it 
so  roughly,  seeing  it  is  in  no  fault  for  what  you  suffer 
from  my  inclinations.  Remember  that  those  who  love 
well  do  not  take  so  cruel  revenge  on  those  who  love 
elsewhere.' 

But  nobody  gave  ear  to  those  words  of  Don  Quixote. 
For,  as  soon  as  Maritornes  had  tied  him  fast,  she  and  the 
other,  almost  bursting  with  laughter,  ran  away  and  left 
him  fastened  in  such  a  manner  that  it  was  not  possible 
for  him  to  loose  himself.  He  was  standing,  as  has  been 
said,  on  Rozinante's  saddle,  with  his  whole  arm  thrust 
within  the  hole,  and  fastened  to  the  bolt  of  the  door, 
and  was  in  great  fear  that  if  Rozinante  budged  never  so 
little  on  either  side  he  should  fall  and  hang  by  the  arm. 
Therefore  he  durst  not  make  the  least  movement,  though 
he  might  have  expected,  from  Rozinante's  patience  and 
mild  spirit,  that  if  he  were  allowed,  he  would  stand 
without  stirring  for  a  whole  century. 

In  fine,  Don  Quixote,  finding  that  he  was  tied  up  and 
that  the  ladies  were  gone,  began  at  once  to  imagine  that  all 
this  had  been  done  by  way  of  enchantment,  as  the  time 
before  when  he  and  Sancho  had  suffered  such  strange 
adventures.  Then  he  was  wroth  with  himself  for  his 
want  of  judgment  and  discretion  in  venturing  to  enter 
the  Castle  a  second  time,  seeing  that  he  had  come  off 
so  badly  the  first.  For  it  was  a  maxim  with  the  Knights 
Errant,  that  when  they  had  attempted  an  adventure  and 
had  not  come  well  out  of  it,  it  was  a  token  that  it  was 
not  reserved  for  them  but  for  some  other. 


THE  STRANGE  ENCHANTMENT  217 


Yet  for  all  this  he  drew  forward  his  arm  to  see  if  he 
mieht  deliver  himself,  but  he  was  so  well  bound  that  all 
his  efforts  proved  vain.  It  is  true  that  he  drew  his  arm 
cautiously,  lest  Rozinante  should  stir,  and  though  he 
longed  to  get  into  the  seat  of  his  saddle  again,  yet  he 
could  do  no  other  but  stand  upright  or  wrench  off  his 
arm.  Many  times  did  he  wish  for  the  sword  of  Amadis 
against  which  no  enchantment  had  power.  Then  he 
fell  to  cursing  his  stars,  or  again  called  upon  the  Lady 
Dulcinea  to  remember  him  anew.  Now  he  would  call 
on  his  good  Squire  Sancho  Panza,  who,  buried  in  sleep, 
stretched  out  upon  his  pack-saddle,  heard  him  not, 
and  then  he  called  in  vain  on  the  Sage  Urganda  to 
release  him. 

Finally,  the  morning  found  him  so  full  of  despair  and 
confusion,  that  he  roared  like  a  bull,  for  he  had  no  hope 
that  daylight  would  bring  him  any  cure,  as  he  fully 
believed  his  enchantment  would  prove  everlasting.  This 
belief  was  strengthened  inasmuch  as  Rozinante  had 
not  budged  ever  so  little,  and  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  both  he  and  his  horse  should  abide  in  that  state 
without  eating,  drinking,  or  sleeping,  until  either  the 
evil  influences  of  the  stars  were  passed,  or  some  great 
Enchanter  had  disenchanted  him. 

In  this  he  was  deceived,  for  scarce  did  day  begin  to 
peep  than  there  arrived  four  horsemen  at  the  Inn  door, 
with  firelocks  on  their  saddle-bows,  who  were  officers 
of  the  Holy  Brotherhood.  They  called  out  at  the  Inn 
door,  which  was  still  shut,  giving  loud  knocks,  which, 
being  heard  by  Don  Quixote  from  the  place*  where  he 


2i8      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


stood  sentinel,  he  cried  out  in  a  loud  and  arrogant  voice  : 
'  Knights  or  Squires,  or  whatsoever  else  ye  be,  you  are 
not  to  knock  any  more  at  the  gates  of  this  Castle,  seeing 
that  at  such  an  hour  as  this  either  those  who  are  within 
are  sleeping,  or  else  are  not  wont  to  open  their  fortress 
until  Phoebus  hath  spread  his  beams  over  the  earth. 
Therefore  stand  back  and  wait  until  it  be  clear  day,  and 
then  we  will  see  whether  it  be  just  or  no,  that  they  should 
open  their  gates  unto  you.' 

'What  Castle  or  Fortress  is  this,'  cried  one  of  them, 
'  that  we  should  observe  these  ceremonies  ?  If  thou  beest 
the  Innkeeper,  command  that  the  door  be  opened,  for  we 
are  travellers  that  will  tarry  no  longer  than  to  bait  our 
horses  and  away,  for  we  ride  post-haste.' 

'  Doth  it  seem  to  you,  gentlemen,'  said  Don  Quixote, 
'  that  I  look  like  an  Innkeeper  ? ' 

'  I  know  not  what  thou  lookest  like,'  answered  the 
other,  '  but  well  I  know  that  thou  speakest  madly  in 
calling  this  Inn  a  Castle.' 

'  It  is  a  Castle,'  replied  Don  Quixote,  'and  one  of  the 
best  in  this  Province,  and  it  hath  people  in  it  who  have 
had  a  sceptre  in  hand  and  a  Crown  on  their  head.' 

'They  be  some  company  of  strolling  players,  then/ 
replied  the  man,  laughing,  '  for  no  others  hold  sceptres 
or  wear  crowns  in  such  a  paltry  Inn  as  this  is.' 

'  Thou  knowest  but  little  of  the  world,'  answered  Don 
Quixote,  '  seeing  thou  art  ignorant  of  the  chances  that 
are  wont  to  happen  in  Knight  Errantry.' 

The  man's  companions  wearied  of  this  discourse,  and 
turned  again  to  knock  with  great  fury  at  the  door,  and 


THE  STRANGE  ENCHANTMENT  219 


this  time  they  not  only  waked  the  Innkeeper  but  also 
all  the  guests,  and  the  former  arose  to  demand  their 
pleasure. 

In  the  meantime  it  happened  that  one  of  the  horses 
on  which  they  rode  came  sniffing  round  Rozinante,  who 
stood  melancholy  and  sad,  with  his  ears  down,  bearing  up 
his  outstretched  Master.  But  being  after  all  an  animal 
of  a  friendly  disposition  to  his  own  kind,  he  could  not 
refrain  from  turning  round  to  sniff  at  him  who  came 
towards  him. 

Scarce  had  he  moved  one  step,  when  Don  Quixote's 
two  feet,  which  were  close  together,  slipped,  and,  sliding 
from  the  saddle,  the  Knight  would  have  fallen  to  the 
ground  had  he  not  remained  hanging  by  the  arm.  This 
caused  him  so  much  pain  that  he  felt  that  his  wrist  was 
being  cut  off  or  his  arm  torn  away.  For  he  hung  so 
near  to  the  ground  that  he  touched  it  with  the  tips  of  his 
toes  ;  and  this  increased  his  misery,  for,  feeling  the  little 
that  was  wanted  to  set  his  feet  wholly  on  the  ground,  he 
struggled  all  he  could  to  reach  it,  deceived  by  the  hope 
that  he  could  indeed  touch  it  if  he  only  stretched  himself 
a  little  further. 


THE  DISPUTED 
POMMEL 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


Wherein  is  continued  the  wonderful  Adventures 

at  the  Inn 

While  Don  Quixote  hung  suspended  between  heaven 
and  earth,  his  outcries  were  so  terrible  that  the  Inn- 
keeper ran  to  the  door,  and  opened  it  hastily  and  in 
great  fright,  to  see  who  it  was  that  roared  so  loud. 

Maritornes,  whom  the  cries  had  also  awakened,  guess- 
ing what  it  was,  ran  to  the  hay-loft,  and,  unseen  by  any 
one,  loosed  the  halter  that  held  up  Don  Quixote,  and 
he  fell  at  once  to  the  ground  in  the  sight  of  the  Inn- 
keeper and  the  four  travellers,  who,  coming  up  to  him, 
asked  him  what  ailed  him. 

He,  without  any  answer  slipped  the  halter  from  his 

220 


ADVENTURES  AT  THE  INN 


221 


wrist,  and,  rising  to  his  feet,  leaped  on  Rozinante, 
braced  on  his  shield,  couched  his  lance,  and,  wheeling 
round  the  field,  rode  back  at  a  hand-gallop,  crying  out  : 
'  Whosoever  shall  dare  to  say  that  I  have  been  with 
just  title  enchanted,  if  my  Lady,  the  Princess  Micomi- 
cona,  will  give  me  leave  to  do  it,  I  say  that  he  lies,  and 
I  challenge  him  to  single  combat.' 

The  travellers  were  amazed  at  his  words,  but  the 
Host  told  them  that  they  must  not  mind  him,  for  he 
was  out  of  his  wits. 

When  Don  Quixote  saw  that  none  of  the  four 
travellers  made  any  account  of  him  or  answered  his 
challenge,  he  was  ready  to  burst  with  wrath  and  fury ; 
and  could  he  have  found  that  a  Knight  Errant  might 
lawfully  accept  and  undertake  another  enterprise,  having 
plighted  his  word  and  faith  not  to  attempt  any  until 
he  had  finished  that  which  he  had  first  promised,  he 
would  have  fallen  upon  them  all,  and  made  them  give 
him  an  answer  in  spite  of  themselves. 

Those  in  the  Inn  were  now  fully  aroused,  and  had 
come  with  the  Innkeeper  to  see  the  new  arrivals. 
Whilst  they  were  talking  to  the  four  travellers,  in  the 
big  room  where  they  had  supped,  they  heard  a  noise 
outside,  the  cause  of  which  was  that  some  dishonest 
guests,  who  had  stayed  there  that  night,  seeing  all 
the  people  busy  to  know  the  cause  of  the  four  horse- 
men coming,  had  thought  to  escape  scot  free  without 
paying  their  reckoning.  But  the  Innkeeper,  who 
attended  his  own  affairs  with  more  diligence  than  other 
men's,  stopped  them  going  out  and  demanded  his  money, 


222      1  HE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

upbraiding  their  dishonest  conduct  with  such  words, 
that  they  returned  him  an  answer  with  their  fists  ; 
and  this  they  did  so  roundly  that  the  poor  Innkeeper 
was  compelled  to  cry  for  help. 

His  wife  and  his  daughter,  seeing  Don  Quixote 
standing  by,  cried  out  to  him :  ■  Help,  Sir  Knight  ! 
help  my  poor  father,  whom  two  wicked  men  are  thrash- 
ing like  a  bundle  of  corn.' 

To  this  Don  Quixote  answered  leisurely  and  with 
great  gravity  :  '  Beautiful  damsel,  your  prayer  cannot 
at  the  present  time  be  granted,  for  I  am  not  permitted 
to  engage  in  any  new  adventure  until  I  have  finished 
the  one  I  have  promised  to  carry  through.  And  all 
that  I  can  now  do  in  your  service  is  what  I  now  say 
«  to  you.  Run  unto  your  father  and  bid  him  continue 
and  maintain  his  battle  manfully  until  I  demand  leave  of 
the  Princess  Micomicona  to  help  him  out  of  his  distress. 
For  if  she  will  give  me  leave,  you  may  make  sure  that 
he  will  be  delivered.' 

'  As  I  am  a  sinner/  cried  Maritornes,  who  was  stand- 
ing by,  'before  you  get  that  leave  you  speak  of  my 
Master  will  be  in  the  other  world/ 

'  Permit  me  but  to  get  the  leave  I  speak  of,'  replied 
Don  Quixote,  '  and  it  matters  not  whether  he  be  in  the 
other  world  or  no.  For  I  would  bring  him  back  again 
in  spite  of  the  other  world  itself,  or  at  least,  I  will  take 
such  a  revenge  on  those  that  sent  him  there  that  you 
shall  be  well  content.' 

Without  saying  more  he  went  in  and  fell  on  his  knees 
before  Dorothea,  demanding  her  in  knightly  and  courtly 


ADVENTURES  AT  THE  INN  223 

phrases  that  she  would  give  him  leave  to  go  and  aid  the 
Constable  of  the  Castle  who  was  then  plunged  in  deep 
distress.  s 

The  Princess  granted  him  leave  very  willingly,  and 
instantly  buckling  on  his  shield,  and  laying  hands  on 
his  sword,  he  ran  to  the  Inn  door  where  the  two  guests 
were  still  fighting  with  the  Innkeeper.  But  as  soon  as 
he  arrived  he  stopped  and  stood  still,  although  Mari- 
tornes  and  the  Hostess  asked  him  twice  or  thrice  the 
cause  of  his  delay  in  assisting  their  master  and  husband. 

'  I  delay,'  said  Don  Quixote,  '  because  it  is  not 
permitted  me  to  lay  hands  to  my  sword  against  Squire- 
like men  who  are  not  dubbed  Knights.  But  call  me 
here  my  Squire  Sancho,  for  this  defence  and  revenge 
belong  to  him  as  his  duty.' 

All  this  took  place  outside  the  Inn  door,  where  fists 
and  blows  were  given  and  taken  much  to  the  Inn- 
keeper's cost,  and  to  the  rage  and  grief  of  Maritornes 
and  the  Hostess  and  her  daughter,  who  were  like  to 
run  mad  on  seeing  Don  Quixote's  cowardice  and  the 
mischief  their  master,  husband,  and  father  was  en- 
during. 

However,  though  the  laws  of  Knighthood  hindered 
Don  Quixote  from  fighting,  he  soon  persuaded  the 
guests,  by  his  wise  reproofs  of  their  conduct,  to  leave 
the  Innkeeper  alone,  and  pay  him  what  was  owing  by 
them  ;  and  all  would  have  been  at  peace  in  the  Inn 
if  another  traveller  had  not  arrived  there  at  this 
moment.  This  was  none  other  than  the  Barber  from 
whom  Don  Quixote  took  away  the  helmet  of  Mambrino, 


V 


224      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


and  Sancho  Panza  the  harness  or  furniture  of  the  ass, 
whereof  he  made  an  exchange  of  his  own.  And  while 
the  Barber  was  leading  his  beast  to  the  stable,  he 
caught  sight  of  Sancho  Panza  mending  some  part  of 
the  pack-saddle,  or  pannel,  as  it  was  called. 

As  soon  as  he  had  eyed  him  he  knew  him,  and  at 
once  set  upon  Sancho,  saying  :  '  Ah,  Sir  thief,  here  I 
have  you  !  Give  up  my  basin  and  my  pannel,  with  all 
the  trappings  you  stole  from  me.' 

Sancho,  finding  himself  attacked  so  suddenly,  laying 
fast  hold  of  the  pannel  with  one  hand,  with  the  other 
gave  the  Barber  such  a  buffet  that  he  bathed  his  teeth 
in  blood.  But  for  all  that  the  Barber  held  fast  his  grip 
of  the  pannel,  and  cried  out  so  loud  that  all  within  the 
house  came  to  the  noise  and  scuffle. 

1  Help,  here,  in  the  name  of  the  King  and  justice,' 
shouted  the  Barber.  '  For  this  thief  and  robber  by  the 
highways  goeth  about  to  kill  me  because  I  seek  to  get 
back  my  own  goods.' 

'Thou  liest,'  cried  Sancho,  'for  I  am  not  a  robber  of 
the  highways.  And  my  Lord  Don  Quixote  won  these 
spoils  in  a  fair  battle.' 

By  this  time  Don  Quixote  himself  had  come  to  the 
spot,  not  a  little  proud  to  see  how  his  Squire  defended 
himself  and  attacked  his  enemy,  and  he  took  him  from 
that  moment  to  be  a  man  of  valour,  and  resolved  in  his 
own  mind  to  dub  him  Knight  on  the  first  occasion 
that  should  offer,  because  he  thought  that  the  order 
of  Knighthood  would  be  well  bestowed  on  him. 

'  Sirs,'  said  the  puzzled   and   angry   Barber,    '  this 


ADVENTURES  AT  THE  INN  225 

pannel  is  as  certainly  mine,  and  I  know  it  as  well  as  if 
I  had  bred  it,  and  there  is  my  ass  in  the  stable  who 
will  not  let  me  lie  ;  so  do  but  try  it  on  him,  and  if  it  fit 
him  not  to  a  hair,  I  am  willing  to  be  called  infamous. 
And  I  can  say  more,  that  on  the  very  day  on  which 
they  took  my  pannel  from  me,  they  robbed  me  likewise 
of  a  new  brazen  basin  which  had  never  been  used,  and 
cost  me  a  crown.' 

Here  Don  Quixote  could  no  longer  contain  himself 
from  speaking,  and,  thrusting  himself  between  the  two, 
to  part  them  asunder,  he  caused  the  pannel  to  be  placed 
publicly  upon  the  ground  until  the  dispute  should  be 
decided,  and  said  :  '  To  the  end  that  you  may  under- 
stand the  clear  mistake  which  this  good  Squire  labours 
under,  see  how  he  calls  that  a  basin,  which  was,  and  is, 
and  always  shall  be,  the  helmet  of  Mambrino,  which  I 
took  from  him  by  force  in  fair  battle,  and  made  myself 
lord  thereof  in  a  lawful  and  warlike  manner.  In  regard 
to  the  pannel  I  meddle  not ;  but  I  can  say  that  my 
Squire  Sancho  asked  leave  of  me  to  take  away  the 
trappings  of  this  vanquished  coward's  horse,  that  he 
might  adorn  his  own  withal.  I  gave  him  leave  to  do  it, 
and  he  took  them.  As  for  these  being  turned  from  a 
horse's  furniture  to  an  ass's  pannel,  I  can  give  no  other 
reason  than  the  common  one  in  affairs  of  Knighthood, 
that  this  is  done  by  enchantment.  And  to  confirm 
the  truth  of  all  I  say,  run,  friend  Sancho,  speedily,  and 
bring  me  out  the  helmet  which  this  good  fellow  declares 
to  be  a  basin/ 

*  By  my  faith,  Sir,'  said  Sancho,  '  if  we  have  no  better 

p 


226      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

proof  of  our  story  than  what  you  say,  the  helmet  of 
Mambrino  is  as  arrant  a  basin  as  this  fellow's  trappings 
are  a  pack-saddle.' 

■  Do  what  I  command/  replied  Don  Quixote,  '  for  I 
cannot  believe  that  all  things  in  this  Castle  are  governed 
by  enchantment.' 

Sancho  went  for  the  basin  and  brought  it,  and  as  soon 
as  Don  Quixote  saw  it,  he  took  it  in  his  hands  and 
said  :  '  See,  Sirs,  with  what  face  can  this  impudent 
Squire  declare  that  this  is  a  basin,  and  not  the  helmet 
that  I  have  mentioned.  I  swear  to  you  by  the  order  of 
Knighthood  which  I  profess,  that  this  is  the  very  same 
helmet  which  I  won  from  him,  without  having  added  or 
taken  anything  from  it.' 

'  There  is  no  doubt  of  that,'  said  Sancho,  'for, 
since  the  time  my  Lord  won  it  until  now,  he  never 
fought  but  one  battle  with  it,  when  he  delivered  the 
unlucky  chained  men.  And  but  for  his  basin,  I  mean 
helmet,  he  had  not  escaped  so  free  as  he  did,  so  thick 
a  shower  of  stones  rained  all  the  time  of  that  battle.' 


Wherein  is  finally  decided  the  Dispute  about 
Mambrino's  Helmet  and  the  Pannel 


'  Good  Sirs/  cried  the  Barber,  '  what  do  you  think  of 
those  who  will  contend  that  this  is  not  a  basin  but  a 
helmet  ? ' 

,  '  He  that  shall  say  the  contrary,'  said  Don  Quixote, 
'  I  will  make  him  know  that  he  lies,  if  he  be  a  Knight  ; 
and  if  he  be  but  a  Squire,  that  he  lies  and  lies  again  a 
thousand  times.' 

The  Barber  Nicholas,  Don  Quixote's  friend,  who  was 
then  with  the  rest,  had  a  mind  to  carry  the  jest  further, 
and  make  them  all  laugh,  so,  speaking  to  the  other 
Barber,  he  said  :  '  Sir  Barber,  or  whoever  you  are,  know 

227 


228      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


that  I  am  also  of  your  profession,  and  have  held  a  certi- 
ficate for  more  than  twenty  years,  and  I  know  all  the 
instruments  of  a  Barber's  art  well.  Moreover,  in  my 
youth  I  was  a  soldier,  and  I  know  what  a  helmet  is  like, 
and  a  morion,  and  a  casque,  and  other  kinds  of  soldiers' 
arms.  And  therefore  I  say,  always  subject  to  better 
opinion,  that  this  good  piece  which  is  laid  here  before  us, 
and  which  this  good  Knight  holds  in  his  hand,  not  only 
is  not  a  Barber's  basin,  but  is  as  far  from  being  one  as 
white  is  from  black.  It  is  a  helmet,  though,  as  I  think, 
not  a  complete  helmet.' 

'  No,  truly,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'for  it  wants  the  half, 
namely  the  lower  part  and  the  visor.' 

'  That  is  true,'  said  the  Curate,  who  understood  his 
friend  s  intention.  And  Cardenio,  Fernando,  and  his 
companions  fell  in  with  this  design. 

'  Lord  a'  mercy ! '  cried  the  poor  Barber,  half  beside 
himself.  '  Is  it  possible  that  so  many  honourable  men 
should  say  that  this  is  no  basin  but  a  helmet  ?  It  is  a 
thing  to  strike  with  amazement  a  whole  University,  be 
they  never  so  wise.  Enough  ;  if  this  basin  is  a  helmet, 
then  must  the  pack-saddle  be  a  horse's  trappings.' 

'  To  me  it  looks  like  a  pack-saddle/  said  Don  Quixote, 
'  but  I  have  already  said  I  do  not  meddle  with  that 
matter.' 

'  Whether  it  be  a  pannel  or  not,'  said  the  Curate,  '  it  is 
but  for  Don  Quixote  to  say,  for  in  these  matters  of 
Knighthood,  all  these  gentlemen  and  myself  bow  to  his 

knowledge.' 

<_> 

'  Sirs,'  said  Don  Quixote,  ' so  many  and  strange  are 


THE  HELMET  AND  THE  PANNEL  229 

the  things  that  have  befallen  me  in  this  Castle  these  two 
times  I  have  lodged  here,  that  it  would  be  rash  in  me  to 
pronounce  a  judgment  in  the  matter.  To  those  who  say 
this  is  a  basin  and  no  helmet  I  have  made  my  answer, 
but  whether  this  be  a  pannel  or  the  furniture  of  a  horse 
I  will  leave  it  to  others  to  decide.' 

To  those  who  knew  Don  Quixote's  madness  this  was 
a  matter  of  much  laughter  and  good  sport,  but  to  the 
four  travellers  who  had  arrived  that  morning,  and  who 
were  officers  of  justice,  and  soldiers  of  the  Holy  Brother- 
hood, it  seemed  the  greatest  folly  in  the  world. 

But  he  that  was  most  of  all  beside  himself  with  wrath 
was  the  Barber,  whose  basin  they  had  transformed  before 
his  face  into  the  helmet  of  Mambrino,  and  whose  pannel, 
he  felt  sure,  would  now  be  turned  into  the  rich  furniture 
and  equipage  of  a  great  horse. 

Those  who  were  in  the  secret  laughed  heartily  to  see 
Don  Fernando  go  up  and  down  taking  the  opinion  of 
this  man  and  that,  whispering  in  their  ear  that  they  might 
give  their  verdict  to  him  in  secret. 

And  after  he  had  gone  round  to  all  those  who  knew 
Don  Quixote,  he  said  to  the  Barber  in  a  loud  voice  : 
*  The  truth  is,  good  fellow,  that  I  grow  weary  of  asking 
so  many  opinions,  for  I  no  sooner  ask  what  I  want  to 
know  than  they  answer  me  that  it  is  mere  madness  to 
say  that  this  is  the  pannel  of  an  ass,  but  rather  is  it  the 
furniture  of  a  horse,  yes  and  of  a  chief  horse  of 
service.' 

'  May  I  never  go  to  heaven,'  said  the  poor  distracted 
Barber,  '  if  you  be  not  all  deceived!    It  is  a  pannel  and 


23o      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

no  horse's  trappings.  But  the  law  takes  it  from  me,  and 
so  farewell  to  it.' 

The  Barber's  simplicity  caused  no  less  laughter  than 
the  follies  of  Don  Quixote,  who  said  :  '  There  is  now  no 
more  to  be  done  than  for  every  one  to  take  his  own.' 

But  at  that  moment  one  of  the  four  officers  of  justice, 
who  had  listened  to  the  dispute,  full  of  anger  to  hear 
such  nonsense  seriously  spoken,  cried  out:  'If  this  be 
not  a  planned  jest,  I  cannot  understand  why  men  of  such 
intelligence  as  all  these  seem  to  be,  should  dare  to  say 
that  this  is  not  a  basin  nor  this  a  pannel.  For  indeed 
it  is  as  very  a  pannel  as  my  father  is  my  father,  and 
he  that  hath  said  or  will  say  anything  else  must  be 
drunk.' 

'  Thou  liest  like  a  clownish  knave,'  said  Don  Quixote. 
And  lifting  up  his  lance,  which  he  always  held  in  his 
hand,  he  aimed  such  a  blow  at  the  trooper's  pate,  that  if 
he  had  not  avoided  it,  it  would  have  thrown  him  to  the 
ground. 

The  lance  was  broken  into  splinters  by  the  fall  of 
the  blow,  and  the  other  troopers,  seeing  their  comrade  so 
misused,  cried  out  for  help  in  the  name  of  the  Holy 
Brotherhood.  The  Innkeeper,  whose  duty  it  was  to 
help  all  officers  of  justice,  ran  for  his  sword,  and  stood 
by  to  help  them.  The  Barber  laid  hold  of  his  pannel, 
and  Sancho  Panza  did  the  same.  Don  Quixote  set  hand 
to  his  sword  and  attacked  the  troopers,  and  Cardenio 
and  Don  Fernando  took  his  part.  The  Curate  cried 
out,  the  Hostess  shrieked,  the  daughter  screamed, 
Maritornes  howled,  while  Dorothea  and  Lucinda  stood 


THE 


HELMET  AND  THE  PANNEL 


231 


frightened  and  amazed.  The  Barber  battered  Sancho, 
and  Sancho  pounded  him  back  again,  while  Don 
Fernando  got  one  of  the  troopers  at  his  feet,  and 
belaboured  him  soundly.  The  Innkeeper  cried  aloud 
for  help  for  the  Holy  Brotherhood,  and  all  the  Inn 
seemed  full  of  wails,  cries,  screeches,  confusion,  fears, 
terrors,  disasters,  slashes,  buffets,  cudgellings,  kicks,  and 
the  shedding  of  blood. 

In  the  midst  of  this  chaos,  Don  Quixote  began  to 
imagine  that  he  was  plunged  up  to  the  ears  in  the 
battle  of  the  King  Agramante,  and  he  cried  aloud  in  a 
voice  that  thundered  through  the  Inn,  '  Hold  all  your 
hands,  put  up  your  swords,  and  keep  the  peace,  if  you 
wish  to  continue  alive.' 

That  great  and  monstrous  voice  made  them  all  stand 
still ;  on  which  he  continued  :  '  Did  I  not  tell  you,  Sirs, 
that  this  Castle  was  enchanted,  and  that  some  legion 
of  magicians  did  inhabit  it.  Note  how  the  discord  of 
King  Agramante's  Camp  is  among  us,  so  that  we  all  of 
us  fight,  and  none  know  for  what.  Come,  therefore, 
Master  Curate,  and  make  you  peace  and  atonement 
between  us,  for  I  swear  that  it  is  a  great  wrong  and  pity 
that  so  many  noblemen  as  we  are  here  should  be  slain 
for  so  slight  causes.' 

The  Barber  was  well  content  that  this  should  be  so, 
by  reason  that  both  his  beard  and  his  pannel  had  been 
torn  to  pieces,  and  Sancho  was  at  once  obedient  to  his 
Master's  voice,  as  became  a  dutiful  servant.  As  for  the 
troopers,  when  they  learned  Don  Fernando's  rank  and 
position,  they  were  quieted,  but  they  retired  from  the 


p 


232      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


brawl  grumbling,  and  by  no  means  satisfied  with  the 
turn  things  had  taken. 

Now  it  happened  that  one  of  these  officers — the  very 
one  who  was  so  buffeted  by  Don  Fernando — had  with 
him  a  warrant  to  take  into  custody  one  Don  Quixote, 
who  was  charged  with  setting  free  certain  galley  slaves. 
As  soon  as  he  remembered  this,  he  must  needs  try 
whether  the  description  of  Don  Quixote  tallied  with  the 
person  before  him. 

He  took  from  his  bosom  a  scroll  of  parchment,  and 
reading  it  very  leisurely,  for  he  was  no  great  scholar, 
at  every  other  word  he  stared  at  Don  Quixote,  and 
compared  the  marks  of  his  warrant  with  those  in  the 
Knight's  face,  and  found  that  without  doubt  he  was  the 
man  that  was  wanted. 

No  sooner  had  he  made  up  his  mind  about  this  than, 
holding  the  warrant  in  his  left  hand,  he  laid  hold  of  Don 
Quixote's  collar  with  his  right  so  strongly  that  he  could 
hardly  breathe,  and  cried  aloud :  '  Aid  for  the  Holy 
Brotherhood.  And  that  you  may  see  that  I  am  in  good 
earnest,  read  that  warrant,  wherein  you  shall  find  that 
this  robber  of  the  highways  is  to  be  taken  into  custody.' 

The  Curate  took  the  warrant,  and  saw  that  what  the 
trooper  said  was  true,  and  that  the  marks  described  Don 
Quixote  very  nearly. 

As  for  the  Knight,  when  he  found  himself  abused  by 
so  base  a  rascal — as  he  considered  him — his  anger  was 
roused  to  its  height,  and  he  caught  the  trooper  by  the 
throat  with  both  hands,  in  such  a  way  that  if  he  had  not 
been  speedily  rescued  by  his  companions,  he  would  have 


THE  HELMET  AND  THE  PANNEL  233 


given  up  his  life  there  and  then,  before  Don  Quixote 
would  have  released  his  hold. 

The  Innkeeper  was  forced  to  assist  his  fellow-officer, 
and  his  wife,  seeing  her  husband  engaged  anew  in 
battle,  raised  a  fresh  cry,  which  was  caught  up  by  her 
daughter  and  Maritornes,  who  called  for  help  from  all 
the  company. 

Sancho,  seeing  all  that  passed,  called  out  :  '  By  my 
faith,  all  that  my  Master  hath  said  of  the  enchantments 
of  this  Castle  is  true,  for  it  is  not  possible  for  a  man  to 
live  quietly  in  it  for  an  hour  together.' 

Don  Fernando  soont  parted  the  trooper  and  Don 
Quixote,  but  the  officers  did  not  cease  to  demand  their 
prisoner,  and  called  on  the  others  to  help  them  to  bind 
him  and  deliver  him  up  to  their  pleasure,  for  so  the 
service  of  the  King  and  the  Holy  Brotherhood  re- 
quired, in  whose  name  they  demanded  help  in  arrest- 
ing this  robber  and  brigand  of  the  public  paths  and 
highways. 

Don  Quixote  laughed  to  hear  them  speak  so  idly,  and 
said  with  great  calmness  :  '  Come  hither,  filthy  and  base- 
born  crew.  Dare  you  call  the  loosing  of  the  enchained, 
the  freeing  of  prisoners,  the  assisting  of  the  wretched,  the 
raising  of  such  as  are  fallen,  the  giving  to  those  in  want, 
— dare  you,  I  say,  call  these  things  robbing  on  the  high- 
way ?  O  infamous  brood,  how  little  do  you  know  of  the 
virtue  which  lies  in  Knight  Errantry !  We  give  you 
to  understand  the  sin  and  error  in  which  you  lie,  in  not 
adoring  the  very  shadow,  much  more  the  actual  presence 
of  a  Knight  Errant.    Come  hither,  I  say,  and  tell  me 


234      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


who  was  the  blockhead  who  signed  a  warrant  of  arrest 
against  such  a  Knight  as  I  am  ?  Who  was  he,  that 
knows  not  that  Knights  Errant  are  free  from  all 
tribunals  ;  their  sword  is  their  law,  their  valour  their 
court,  and  their  own  will  and  pleasure  their  statutes  ?  I 
say  again,  What  madman  was  he  that  knows  not  the 
privileges  that  belong  to  a  Knight  Errant,  from  the 
day  he  is  dubbed  a  Knight  and  devotes  himself  to  a 
Knightly  calling?  What  Knight  Errant  did  ever  pay 
tax  or  custom  ?  What  tailor  ever  had  of  him  money  for 
a  suit  of  clothes  ?  What  Constable  ever  lodged  him  in 
his  Castle,  and  made  him  pay  his  shot  ?  What  King 
hath  not  placed  him  at  his  own  table?  And,  finally, 
what  Knight  Errant  was  there  ever,  is,  or  shall  be  in  the 
world,  who  hath  not  the  courage  himself  alone  to  give 
four  hundred  cudgellings  to  four  hundred  officers  if  they 
stand  in  his  way  ?  ' 

Whilst  Don  Quixote  raved  in  this  way,  the  Curate 
was  trying  to  persuade  the  troopers  that  Don  Quixote 
was  out  of  his  wits,  and  that  even  if  they  did  arrest  him 
they  would  have  to  release  him  afterwards,  as  he  was  a 
madman. 

'Indeed,'  said  the  Curate,  'you  must  not  take  him, 
nor  do  i  believe  that  he  will  let  himself  be  taken.' 

The  officers  were  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  this 
view,  but  they  had  seen  enough  of  Don  Quixote  to  con- 
vince them  of  his  madness,  and  in  the  end  they  agreed 
that  it  was  better  the  Curate  should  endeavour,  as  he 
proposed,  to  take  him  to  his  home,  than  that  they  should 
arrest  him  at  the  risk  of  their  lives. 


THE  HELMET  AND  THE  PANNEL  235 

The  dispute  between  Sancho  and  the  Barber  was  now 
easily  settled,  for  there  was  very  little  left  of  the  pannel 
for  Sancho  to  keep ;  and  the  Curate,  without  Don 
Quixote  knowing  anything  of  it,  gave  the  Barber  eight 
reals  for  the  price  of  his  basin,  so  that  they  should  hear 
nothing  further  of  the  dispute  of  Mambrino's  helmet. 


In  which  is  finished  the  notable  Adventures 


of  our  good  Knight 

The  Curate  and  Don  Fernando  now  took  the  Innkeeper 
aside  and  settled  all  his  claims  against  Don  Quixote, 
for  he  had  sworn  that  neither  Rozinante  nor  Sancho's 
Ass  should  stir  from  the  Inn  until  he  was  paid  to  the 
last  farthing.  As  for  Don  Quixote,  as  soon  as  he  found 
himself  free  from  all  the  quarrels  by  which  he  had  been 
surrounded,  he  held  it  high  time  to  begin  his  voyage  and 
bring  to  an  end  the  great  adventure  unto  which  he  was 
called  and  chosen. 

Therefore,  having  made  up  his  mind  to  depart,  he 
went  and  cast  himself  upon  his  knees  before  Dorothea 

236 


FINAL  ADVENTURES  237 

and  said  :  .  I  cannot  but  think,  high  and  worthy  Lady, 
that  our  abode  in  this  Castle  is  nothing  profitable,  and 
may  turn  out  to  our  disadvantage.  For  who  knows  but 
that  your  enemy  the  Giant  hath  learned  by  spies  or 
other  secret  means  how  I  intend  to  come  and  destroy 
him,  and  he  may  by  now  have  fortified  himself  in  some 
impregnable  Castle  or  Fortress,  against  the  strength  of 
which  even  the  force  of  mine  invincible  arm  will  be  of 
little  use.  Therefore,  dear  Lady,  let  us  by  our  diligence 
hinder  his  plans,  and  let  us  depart  to  the  place  where 
fortune  calls  us.' 

Don  Quixote  said  no  more  but  awaited  the  answer  of 
the  beautiful  Princess,  who,  with  a  lordly  air  and  in  a 
style  not  unworthy  of  Don  Quixote  himself,  replied  as 
follows  :  '  I  thank  you,  Sir  Knight,  for  the  desire  you 
show  to  assist  me  in  this  my  great  need,  and  I  trust 
your  desires  and  mine  may  succeed,  that  I  may  show  you 
that  there  are  some  thankful  women  on  earth.  As  for  my 
departure,  let  it  be  as  you  wish,  for  I  have  no  other  will 
than  that  which  is  yours.  Therefore  dispose  of  me  at  your 
own  pleasure,  for  she  that  hath  once  given  the  defence  of 
her  person  unto  you,  and  hath  put  into  your  hand  the 
recovery  of  her  estate,  ought  not  to  seek  to  do  any  other 
thing  but  that  which  your  wisdom  shall  suggest.' 

'Let  our  departure,  then,'  said  Don  Quixote,  'be 
immediate.  Saddle  me  Rozinante,  Sancho,  and  get 
ready  your  Ass  and  the  Queen's  palfrey,  and  let  us 
take  leave  of  the  Constable  and  these  other  lords  and 
depart  instantly.' 

Sancho,  who  was  present  at  all  this,  stood  wagging  his 


238      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


head  from  side  to  side,  and  said :  '  O  my  Lord,  my 
Lord,  how  much  more  knavery  is  there  in  the  little 
village  than  is  talked  of! ' 

'  What  can  be  noised  abroad  in  any  village  or  in  anv 
of  the  cities  of  the  world  to  my  discredit,  villain?'  asked 
his  Master  angrily. 

'  If  you  are  angry,'  said  Sancho,  T  will  hold  my  tongue 
and  omit  to  say  that  which  by  the  duty  of  a  good  Squire, 
and  an  honest  servant,  I  am  bound  to  tell  you.' 

'  Say  what  thou  wilt,'  said  Don  Quixote,  and  he 
waited  to  hear  what  his  Squire  had  to  say. 

'  What  I  mean,'  continued  Sancho,  '  and  what  I  hold 
for  most  sure  and  certain  is,  that  this  Lady,  who  calls 
herself  Queen  of  the  great  Kingdom  of  Micomicona,  is 
no  more  a  Queen  than  my  mother.  For  if  she  were 
what  she  says,  she  would  not  at  every  corner  be  billing 
and  cooing  with  one  that  is  in  this  good  company.' 

Dorothea  blushed  at  Sancho's  words,  for  it  was  true 
indeed  that  her  lover  Don  Fernando  had.  sometimes  on 
the  sly  gathered  from  her  lips  the  reward  of  his  affec- 
tions. She  was  neither  able  nor  willing  to  answer  Sancho 
a  word,  but  let  him  go  on  with  his  speech,  which  he  did 
as  follows  : — 

'  This  I  say,  good  my  Lord,  to  this  end,  that  if  after 
we  have  travelled  highways  and  byways  and  endured 
bad  nights  and  worse  days,  he  that  is  in  this  Inn,'  and 
Sancho  looked  knowingly  at  Don  Fernando,  '  shall 
marry  our  Princess  and  get  the  fruits  of  your  labours, 
there  is  no  need  to  hasten,  methinks,  to  saddle  Rozi- 
nante   or  harness  Dapple,  or  make  ready  the  palfrey 


FINAL  ADVENTURES 


239 


seeing  it  would  be  better  that  we  stayed  still  and  looked 
after  our  dinner.' 

You  may  imagine  how  great  was  the  fury  that  inflamed 
Don  Quixote  when  he  heard  his  Squire  speak  so  rudely. 
It  was  so  great  that,  with  a  shaking  voice,  a  faltering 
tongue,  and  the  fire  sparking  out  of  his  eyes,  he  said  : 
'  O  villainous  peasant,  rash,  unmannerly,  ignorant,  rude, 
foul-mouthed  backbiter  and  slanderer!  Darest  thou 
utter  such  words  in  my  presence  and  in  that  of  these 
noble  Ladies?  Hast  thou  dared  to  entertain  such  rash 
and  stupid  fancies  in  thy  muddled  imagination  ?  Out 
of  my  sight,  monster  of  nature,  storehouse  of  untruth, 
armoury  of  falsehood,  sink  of  roguery,  inventor  of 
villainy,  publisher  of  ravings,  enemy  of  the  respect  due 
to  Royal  persons.  Away,  villain,  and  never  more  appear 
before  me  on  pain  of  my  wrath.' 

So  saying,  he  bent  his  brows  and  glared  around  on 
every  side  as  he  struck  a  mighty  blow  upon  the  ground 
with  his  right  foot.  And  at  these  words  and  furious 
gestures,  poor  Sancho  was  so  greatly  frightened,  that  he 
could  have  wished  in  that  instant  that  the  earth  opening 
under  his  feet  would  swallow  him  up. 

But  the  witty  Dorothea,  who  now  understood  Don 
Quixote's  humour  perfectly,  to  appease  his  anger  spoke 
to  him  thus  :  '  Be  not  offended,  good  Sir  Knight  of  the 
Rueful  Countenance,  at  the  idle  words  your  good  Squire 
hath  spoken.  For  perhaps  he  hath  not  said  them  with- 
out some  ground,  and  we  cannot  suspect  from  a  man  of 
his  good  understanding  that  he  would  knowingly  slander 
or  accuse  any  one  falsely.     And   therefore  we  must 


24o      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


believe  that  without  doubt,  as  you  have  yourself  said, 
Sir  Knight,  in  this  Castle  all  things  are  subject  to 
enchantment,  and  it  might  well  happen  that  Sancho  may 
have  been  deceived  by  some  wicked  illusion.' 

'  I  vow,'  cried  Don  Quixote,  '  that  your  Highness  has 
hit  the  truth,  and  that  some  evil  vision  appeared  to  this 
sinner,  my  man  Sancho,  that  made  him  see  things  that 
he  could  not  have  seen  unless  by  enchantment.  For  I 
also  know  very  well,  that  the  great  goodness  and  sim- 
plicity of  the  poor  wretch  is  such,  that  he  knows  not  how 
to  invent  a  lie  on  anybody  living.'  : 

'  It  is  even  so,'  said  Don  Fernando  ;  '  and  therefore, 
good  Sir  Don  Quixote,  you  must  pardon  him  and  take 
him  once  more  to  the  bosom  of  your  grace.' 

Don  Quixote  answered  that  he  did  willingly  pardon 
him  ;  and  Sancho,  kneeling  down  on  his  knees,  humbly 
asked  his  Lord's  hand,  which  he  gave  to  him.  And  after 
he  had  permitted  him  to  kiss  it,  he  gave  him  his  bless- 
ing, saying  :  '  Now  thou  shalt  finally  know,  Sancho,  that, 
which  I  have  told  thee  many  times,  how  that  all  things 
in  this  Castle  come  about  by  means  of  enchantment.' 

And  this  Sancho  was  ready  to  believe  of  everything 
except  the  tossing  they  had  given  him  in  the  blanket,  for 
he  well  knew  that  he  had  been  tossed  by  persons  of  flesh 
and  blood  and  bone,  and  not  by  visionary  and  unreal  phan- 
toms and  shadows,  as  his  Master  was  always  telling  him. 

Two  clays  passed,  when  it  seemed  to  all  the  noble 
company  at  the  Inn  that  it  was  time  to  depart,  and  they 
considered  how,  without  putting  Dorothea  and  Don  Fer- 
nando to  the  pain  of  turning  back  with  Don  Quixote 


FINAL  ADVENTURES 


241 


to  his  village,  the  Curate  and  the  Barber  could  carry  him 
home  as  they  desired,  and  leave  him  cured  of  his  folly  in 
his  own  home. 

This  was  the  plan  they  decided  on.  They  made  a 
bargain  with  a  wagoner,  who  chanced  to  pass  by  that 
way  w7ith  a  team  of  oxen,  to  carry  him  in  the  following 
manner  : — 

They  made  a  thing  like  a  cage  of  timber,  so  big  that 
Don  Quixote  might  sit  or  lie  in  it  at  his  ease,  and  pre- 
sently Don  Fernando,  Cardenio,  their  companions,  and 
the  Innkeeper  did  all,  by  Master  Curate's  directions,  cover 
their  faces  and  disguise  themselves  as  well  as  they  could, 
so  that  they  might  seem  to  Don  Quixote  to  be  different 
persons  to  any  he  had  seen  in  the  Castle.  This  being 
done,  they  entered  silently  into  the  place  where  he  slept, 
reposing  after  his  recent  battles.  They  went  up  to  him  as 
he  was  sleeping  peacefully,  not  fearing  any  such  accident, 
and,  laying  hold  of  him  forcibly,  they  tied  his  hands  and 
feet  very  strongly,  so  that  when  he  started  out  of  his 
sleep  he  could  not  move,  nor  do  anything  else  but  stare 
and  wonder  at  the  strange  faces  that  he  saw  before  him. 

And  immediately  he  fell  into  the  idea,  which  his  wild 
imagination  had  at  once  suggested  to  him,  that  all 
these  strange  figures  were  spirits  and  phantoms  of  that 
enchanted  Castle,  and  he  believed  that  he  himself  was 
without  doubt  enchanted,  seeing  that  he  could  neither 
move  nor  defend  himself. 

All  happened  as  the  Curate  who  plotted  the  jest 
expected  ;  and  after  they  had  brought  him  to  the  cage, 
they  shut  him  within,  and  afterwards  nailed  the  bars 

Q 


242      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 

thereof  so  well  that  they  could  not  easily  be  broken. 
Sancho  all  this  time  looked  on  in  wonder  to  see  what 
would  happen  to  his  Master. 

Then  the  phantoms  mounted  him  upon  their  shoulders, 
and  as  he  was  carried  out  of  his  chamber  door  the  Barber 
called  out  in  as  terrible  a  voice  as  he  could  muster :  1  O 
Knight  of  the  Rueful  Countenance,  be  not  grieved  at 
thine  imprisonment,  for  so  it  must  be  that  thine  adven- 
tures be  more  speedily  ended.  And  thou,  O  most  noble 
and  obedient  Squire  that  ever  had  sword  at  girdle,  beard 
on  a  face,  or  dent  in  a  nose,  let  it  not  dismay  thee  to  see 
carried  away  thus  the  flower  of  all  Knighthood.  For  I 
assure  thee  that  all  thy  wages  shall  be  paid  to  thee,  if 
thou  wilt  follow  in  the  steps  of  this  valorous  and  en- 
chanted Knight.  And  as  I  am  not  allowed  to  say  more, 
farewell  ! ' 

Don  Quixote  listened  attentively  to  all  this  prophecy, 
and  said :  '  O  thou,  whatsoever  thou  beest,  I  desire 
thee  to  request  in  my  name  that  I  may  not  perish  in  this 
prison  before  my  work  is  ended.  And  as  concerns  my 
Squire  Sancho  Panza,  I  trust  in  his  goodness  that  he 
will  not  abandon  me  in  good  or  bad  fortune.  For, 
though  it  should  fall  out  through  his  or  my  hard  lot 
that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  bestow  on  him  an  Island,  as 
I  have  promised,  his  wages  cannot  be  lost  to  him,  for  in 
my  Will,  which  is  made  already,  I  have  set  down  what 
he  is  to  have  for  his  many  good  services.' 

Sancho  Panza  bowed  his  head  with  great  reverence 
when  he  heard  this,  and  kissed  both  his  Master's  hands, 
which  were  bound  tightly  together.    Then  the  phantoms 


FINAL  ADVENTURES  243 

lifted  up  the  cage  and  hoisted  it  on  to  the  wagon  that 
was  drawn  by  the  team  of  oxen. 

After  bidding  farewell  to  all  their  friends,  the  pro- 
cession started.  First  went  the  cart  guided  by  the 
carter,  then  the  troopers,  then  followed  Sancho  upon 
his  Ass  leading  Rozinante  by  the  bridle,  and  last  of  all 
the  Curate  and  the  Barber,  riding  their  mighty  mules, 
with  masks  on  their  faces. 

Don  Quixote  sat  with  his  hands  tied  and  his  legs 
stretched  out,  leaning  against  a  bar  of  the  cage,  with 
such  a  silence  and  such  patience  that  he  seemed  rather 
to  be  a  statue  than  a  man.  And  thus  at  an  Alderman- 
like pace,  such  as  suited  the  slow  steps  of  the  heavy 
oxen,  they  journeyed  home. 

At  the  end  of  two  days  they  arrived  at  Don  Quixote's 
village,  into  which  they  entered  about  noon.  This  was  on 
a  Sunday,  when  all  the  people  were  in  the  market-place, 
through  the  midst  of  which  Don  Quixote's  cart  passed. 
All  drew  near  to  see  what  was  in  it,  and  when  they  knew 
their  neighbour  they  were  greatly  astounded.  A  little 
boy  ran  home  before,  to  tell  the  old  woman  and  the 
Niece  that  their  Lord  and  Uncle  was  returned.  It  would 
have  moved  one  to  pity  to  have  heard  the  cries  and 
lamentations  the  two  good  women  made,  and  the  curses 
they  poured  out  against  all  Books  of  Knighthood,  when 
they  saw  Don  Quixote  enter  the  gates  of  his  own  house 
aorain  in  so  strange  a  carriage. 

Sancho  Panza's  wife,  when  she  heard  of  his  return, 
ran  forward  to  meet  her  husband,  and  the  first  question 
she  asked  was  whether  the  Ass  were  in  health  or  no. 


244      THE  STORY  OF  DON  QUIXOTE 


Sancho  answered  that  he  was  come  in  better  health 
than  his  master. 

'  Tell  me,  then,'  cried  his  wife,  '  what  profit  hast  thou 
reaped  by  this  Squireship  ?  What  petticoat  hast  thou 
brought  me  home  ?    What  shoes  for  the  little  boys  ?' 

'  i  bring  none  of  these  things,  good  wife,'  replied 
Sancho,'  '.though  I  bring  things  better  thought  of  and 
of  Qreater  moment.' 

'  I  am  glad  of  that,'  said  his  wife,  4  for  I  should  like  to 
see  them,  to  the  end  that  my  heart  may  be  cheered, 
which  hath  been  swollen  and  sorrowful  for  so  long,  all 
the  time  of  thine  absence.' 

'Thou  shalt  see  them  at  home,'  said  Sancho,  'there- 
fore rest  satisfied.  For  when  we  travel  once  again  to 
seek  adventures,  thou  shalt  see  me  shortly  afterwards 
an  Earl  or  Governor  of  an  Island,  one  of  the  best  in 
the  world.' 

'  I  pray  that  it  may  be  so,'  replied  his  wife  ;  '  but  what 
means  that  Island,  for  I  understand  not  the  word  ? ' 

'  Honey  is  not  made  for  the  ass's  mouth,'  said  Sancho, 
'  but  thou  shalt  know  all  in  good  time.  Do  not  busy 
thyself,  Joan,  to  know  all  things  in  a  sudden.  It  is 
enough  that  I  will  tell  thee  all  the  truth,  and  therefore 
close  thy  mouth.  I  will  only  say  this  much  unto  thee  as 
yet,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  pleasant  as  for 
an  honest  man  to  be  the  Squire  of  a  Knight  that  seeks 
adventures.' 

Now,  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  Don  Quixote  got  quite 


FINAL  ADVENTURES  245 

well  and  lived  quietly  at  home  after  all  these  adventures, 
and  never  went  abroad  again,  I  should  tell  you  what  is 
not  true.  For  some  day,  and  I  hope  at  no  great  distance 
of  time,  you  may  read  what  the  great  Cervantes  has 
written,  not  only  of  the  adventures  of  which  I  have  told 
you  the  story,  but  of  the  second  part  of  Don  Quixote's 
adventures,  some  of  which  are  even  more  wonderful 
than  the  first.  There  you  will  learn  how  Sancho  Panza 
became  at  last  Governor  of  an  Island  for  a  short  space, 
and  may  read  of  the  great  wisdom  and  shrewdness  with 
which  he  ruled. 

All  these  good  things  will  be  yours  to  read  some  day, 
as  they  have  been  mine  and  are  every  one's.  For,  like  all 
the  really  great  stories  of  the  world,  this  of  Don  Quixote 
belongs  to  no  nation  or  people,  but  is  the  property  of 
each  and  all  of  us,  given  us  freely  to  enjoy  it  how  and 
where  we  will.  And  from  the  humour  and  wisdom  of 
such  books  we  may  become  brighter  and  better  our- 
selves. So  that  when  I  wish  that  you  may  be  able  to 
love  and  honour  all  such  books,  and  to  read  this  one  as 
Cervantes  wrote  it,  and  with  the  care  it  deserves  to  be 
read,  it  is  the  best  wish  I  can  give  you.  And,  indeed, 
to  wish  you  the  gift  of  understanding  it,  is  the  same 
thing  as  wishing  you  a  happy  life. 


RESERVATION  REVIEW 


